Superimposition
by AnotherBook
Summary: Superimposition: n., the action or state of being superimposed, i.e. placed one atop another. Many things can be said to happen at once, and sometimes that's confusing, and sometimes it's brilliant. Posted by Erin. This chapter: It's not really a Time Lord thing, really, it's just him. Knowing when he's going to die.
1. Vanilla

**Vanilla**

It was one of those talks that they'd started before the Doctor regenerated (in this case, _long_ before) and finished after.

 _"_ _What's your favorite kind of ice cream?" Rose asked suddenly, out of the blue. Unsurprised, the Doctor looked her over for a long moment before answering._

 _"_ _Vanilla," he said. Rose smiled._

 _"_ _Of all the flavors in the universe… vanilla?"_

 _"_ _Oi! Don't knock it!" the Doctor protested. "When you're as old as I am, you'll appreciate vanilla too. What's yours?"_

 _"_ _Chocolate," Rose said, licking her lips._

 _"_ _Well, it makes sense," the Doctor said._

And that was the end of it, at the time.

Now, counting her blessings, Rose remembered this: The one place she remembered best, of all the alien places they had gone, and she remembered this one: a small café in Soho, but a café with the best milkshakes in the world. (Or so the Doctor had said.)

 _They walked up to the door, side by side and arm in arm, just a pair of friends out for a stroll. A tiny bell jingled as the door opened and closed again, and the waitress, a slim young Asian woman, greeted them with a smile. They obviously weren't recognized, Rose thought, but it was clear that the Doctor, at least, had been here before. Glancing at him, she admitted to herself that he_ had _changed._ A lot, _she amended mentally._

 _They sat down at a table with a bouquet of daffodils and violets set in a small, graceful vase and pansies embroidered on the table cloth. Rose ordered a grilled cheese, the Doctor ordered leek and potato soup, and when they finished their meal, the waitress brought over two milkshakes—one chocolate, the other vanilla._

 _Rose grinned mischievously at the Doctor, who raised a finger in warning. "Don't start." He absentmindedly nudged the whipped cream on top with a spoon, dropping the cherry onto his discarded plate, and tasted his milk shake. Rose, still grinning, started in on hers. The Doctor suddenly smiled mischievously back at her and asked her to take a sip of water. Then he offered her a second straw, stuck into his milkshake. Rose laughed, convinced that he was just playing a practical joke on her, and accepted._

 _The flavor that exploded in her mouth was unlike anything she had ever tasted before. Rich and complex, with hints of sweet spiciness, and completely lacking any of the sour or tart off-notes that she remembered as a part of the vanilla extract that Jackie had always used. Rose blinked in surprise. "Wow. What is that?"_

 _"_ _Vanilla," the Doctor said, smiling. "The ethanol they use to make the extract leaches all the goodness out of it. This comes straight from the bean; they simmer the beans gently in milk then scrape them, and this is what you get: straight vanilla, with just a touch of nutmeg. Do you like it?"_

 _"_ _Oh my gosh," Rose replied. The Doctor smiled, raised his milkshake, and clinked glasses with hers._

 _"_ _To lovely things in unexpected places."_

 _"_ _Absolutely," Rose replied._

 **Author's Note:** Written to the PianoGuys' covers of "Rolling in the Deep" and "O Fortuna." Hurrah for simple pleasures.


	2. Melt

**Melt**

It had been a long day.

The Doctor slid down into the tub, stifling a groan as the hot water hit both bruises and strained muscles. Most days were tiring, but a good kind of tiring—saving the world, a feeling of satisfaction when the adventure or journey was over. People gave him energy—even if reticent, he was _definitely_ an extravert.

Today, though, he'd overdone it.

Everyone had gotten kidnapped, and he'd had to run all over and save the world himself— _not_ something he did on a daily basis. He'd gotten accustomed to having a companion to say the right thing at the last minute, a second pair of hands to hold those other switches down and stop the count down. In the end, everyone had lived and he'd rescued his friends, but he'd also been beaten and left for dead, run a five-minute mile, and had to lift something that was probably way too heavy for this particular frame. (He still wasn't quite used to this new regeneration—not yet, anyway.)

He still had the cuts on his hands, and he hissed a little as the soapy water stung them.

It was still a good day, though.

A knock sounded from the door, jerking him out of a light doze, and Rose called, "You all right in there, Doctor?"

"Fine," he called back. "Taking a bath."

"Don't fall asleep in there," she warned. "You'll get chilled when the water cools off."

"Rose, TARDIS, remember?"

"Yes," she replied, and the Doctor could tell that she was smiling. "But I want a turn in there too."

"All right," he said, pulling himself out of the tub. His internal clock told him it had been almost two hours—in an Earth bathroom, the water would be cold long before now, but the TARDIS was always watching out for them. Grabbing a towel, he dried off and changed into a long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants. Rose giggled at the sight he made as he opened the door and let her into the bathroom.

"What happened to you?"

"Simple answer: I am getting too old for this."

"You'll never be too old for this," she interrupted with a grin.

"I'm going to bed." the Doctor said.


	3. Psychosomatic

Psychosomatic

Rose almost missed the tiny flinch as the Doctor rubbed absently at his left arm while reading the… phonebook? Rose leaned over and glanced over his shoulder. Yup. Definitely a phonebook. But she didn't remember, a minute later, because the Doctor asked her where she'd like to go next, pointing out oddly specific locations… in the phonebook.

That was new, and it drove whatever she'd been thinking about before right out of her mind.

Two days later, the Doctor was rubbing at a line along his jaw, just under his chin. Then, his left hand drifted, absently, toward his right wrist. Rose grabbed his errant hand and pressed it against the table top. The Doctor looked up, almost offended, at her. "Don't do that," Rose ordered. She sat down across from him. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

Now the Doctor looked annoyed. "It's nothing. It is literally nothing. Just a freak of psychology. It really, really is…"

"Is what?" Rose interrupted.

"All in my head," the Doctor finished. Rose watched him closely. The silence became awkward.

"That sounded ominous," Rose said at last.

"Well, I'm sorry," the Doctor said. He wasn't. He was really irritated now, and Rose could tell. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him, with enough intensity to hopefully get him to recant.

"It's my problem, Rose Tyler, and I can deal with it on my own," he said crossly.

"But," Rose said softly, "you shouldn't have to."

The Doctor showed her his unmarked wrist. "It hurts," he said. Rose looked at him, confused, for a long moment, before it dawned on her.

"But it grew back. Your hand grew back," she said.

"I can't forget the fact that it was cut off, though," the Doctor said softly, and Rose suddenly understood. "Every time I've ever been hurt, it heals, but I still remember, even when it happened to a different regeneration and I don't carry the scars from it any more. Sometimes I remember pain, sometimes I remember the terror or shock or revulsion. Even my short-term memory is more detailed than anything you could imagine, Rose. Three to seven separate pieces of data? I can remember about ten _hundred_ without committing them to long-term. And even when I'm not remembering, my body's slipping up, and the leftover pain keeps… leaking in…"

"You didn't seem bothered at all when he cut your hand off," Rose said. "I thought I was going to be sick, and you just stood up like it was nothing."

"That's shock and adrenaline, Rose. It 'hadn't hit me yet,' as you humans say. I was dissociating myself from the pain and psychological trauma, but…" He fell silent. "It's _pathetic_ ," he spat out at last, as if disgusted with himself.

"I don't think so," Rose said. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Nobody wants you to be perfect but you. Nobody… well, except the Daleks, but they're all mental cases anyway… nobody hates you but you. Everything that's happened to you and you still see a way to do something good, even if you think you can't be redeemed yourself… that's brilliant."

Rose wasn't sure if it was a whisper or a thought as she hugged him, but she could've sworn she heard _That's why I need you, Rose Tyler._

 **Author's Note:** So, a bit of hurt/comfort this time... Yes, this is the second time today I've committed something to the archive, but it seemed like a good follow-up to "Melt". There will be more humor next time, I promise.

Also, the way he just shrugs it off whenever he gets whumped? TOTALLY unrealistic. Even when he's not physically really badly hurt... there's going to be psychological connotations, Mister. (I just found out I can write TenRose. Not really romantic, I know, but fluffy! WHEEE!)

I promise I'll commit something with Nine... or a companion other than Rose... eventually... (I love them all, just so you know. Except for Adam. Who is dumb. I love all these lovely people, but Martha is not such a harborer of plot bunnies as is Rose. *sigh* I'll get around to it... eventually.)


	4. Bedtime Story

**Bedtime Story**

Come in, sweetheart. It's a bit windy out, isn't it? Never mind that.

Were they kind to you at school? Oh, they ignored you as usual? That's no measure of you, dear. I promise. You're special to me, love.

Do you want to hear a story? Well, I might get in trouble for telling this one to you… so we'll just keep it between ourselves, shall we? Right. All right, all right! I'm telling it. I'm telling it now…

Did you ever hear of the one man who defied Rassilon? And he did it in front of the Senate, too. He was a brave man, that one—a brave and good man, who thought he was a coward. It's true! I know it seems strange, but the world… it gets complicated after you turn eight, sweetie.

Now listen closely. Others might try to tell you this story later on, but they have it wrong, love. This is the truth. This is what really happened.

This man, he'd just come back from a war. He'd been… well, alleviating a wound in Time and keeping a crisis from happening. Yes, I know what that means, sweetie. Wait, _who_ nearly ripped open a Rift during transdimensional physics yesterday? Never mind, it can wait. I'm going to keep going, sweetheart.

Anyway, when he'd come back, he wasn't quite himself… he'd seen a lot of things that had made him very sad, and they made him think. Yes, sweetie—just like you and Rothseillana! But, unlike you, even though he tried very hard, he wasn't able to fix it.

And then, because he'd been thinking, they all thought he'd gone mad, when all he'd done was to try to think for himself. His new ideas—they were rather radical. And an idea—it can spread like Semirian Flu, sometimes. So they isolated him—they quarantined him. And when the quarantine was over, they told him he wasn't allowed to see his family any more.

Of course, he was furious. He stormed into the Senate in full session—yes, love, I _know_ that only patricians are allowed in the Senate—yes, he was a patrician—yes, just like us. A penniless patrician. Yes, that is a bit funny, isn't it? But along with his other new ideas, he'd wanted to make his own way. He had a stubborn streak the size of the Kalliso Stretch—no, I don't mean that literally. It's just an expression, love.

He stormed right into the Senate and demanded of Rassilon—yes, he knew perfectly well where the orders that he couldn't see his family any more came from—why Rassilon had done such a thing.

"Why shouldn't I see my family?" he asked.

"All of Gallifrey is your family," Rassilon replied. Yes, I know it's funny, but that's how he _talks_ , dear. You needn't _snort_.

The man went deathly quiet. "And what of the family I founded? Are they no less my family?" he asked, and everyone in the Senate could hear.

"You think too much," Rassilon replied. "Your mind is narrow." The man drew himself up—he _was_ always a bit dramatic. But dramatic in a good way.

"I would rather have no name and no history," he declared, "than be defined by you!"

That same day, he left Gallifrey in a stolen TARDIS with his granddaughter—no, sweetheart. She wasn't seven. She was almost two hundred, and he met her by accident. A happy accident, though.

He left Gallifrey forever, to roam the universe and do what good he could for the people who live on the outside, to be guided by these new ideas, and maybe to find a few more.

He goes by the Doctor now, sweetheart. And listen close, because you must never tell this to anyone, but you should know this, even though the name he was given at birth has been struck forever from the Books of Rassilon and he is not spoken of—

He was your brother.

 **Author's note:** I'm sorry if I made hash of Gallifreyan history-I have not seen any classic Doctor Who, so you'll have to forgive me. This is just my thoughts on how the Doctor went into (self-imposed) banishment, and Rassilon is a jerk, so he's here too. (Also, I've heard a lot about the Doctor not liking the fact that his people were stuffy and pompous, so I took that and ran with it.) And I thought that it would be completely possible for the Doctor to have siblings younger than his granddaughter, since Gallifreyans live so long and (sometimes?) regenerate younger... who he would also know nothing about, being denied visitation rights to his family. (I will forever think that the woman from "End of Time" was actually his mother and she was silently telling him to do what he had to. Even though he's going to hate himself for it. Ouch.)


	5. My Doctorate Thesis

SUMMARY: A study on the nature of humanity, personhood, and time itself.

NOTES: Do NOT forget to double-space. Next time means penalties. I really mean it this time!

He put down the pen and ran his hand through his hair. All his teachers had told him to pick something less ambitious, but it was what he was interested in.

Humans were unexpected. They always accomplished so much in their small lifetimes, their curiosity and courage went far beyond any other species that he could think of. Human history was so small and almost insignificant, but all their potential. They thought, they invented, they didn't just survive, they created. They had passion. They _lived_ with passion.

They found ways around the inevitable bureaucracies they had begun to develop, places at the edges, their invention was always fresh, unexpected. It was exciting to watch, it made him want to be a part of it.

Call him strange, but he _knew_ that wasn't normal.

The oddest freak on Gallifrey and the most unusual species in the universe.

Maybe it would fit.


	6. March

**March**

Crick, creak. Crick, creak. Crick, creak.

It took seventeen steps to cross the Assembly Room on the TARDIS. The Doctor pivoted on one heel, listening to the sound the spanking-new gear made, and marched back across the Assembly Room, then around the console three times.

"Doctor?" Rose's voice floated across to him. "What are you doing? Have you joined the army?"

He whipped around defensively, his "No!" coming out far more sharply than he intended it to. Replaying it in his head, he forced himself to realize that Rose had been joking. "No, sorry," he said, more softly this time. "Just breaking in these shoes."

"Just breaking in the shoes?" Rose said, echoing him in that humorous way. The Doctor half-smiled.

"New shoes take a lot of breaking in." He glanced down at Rose's old trainers. "Speaking of which…"

The hallways of the TARDIS echoed with Rose's laughter as he grabbed her hand and pulled her off in search of new shoes.


	7. Sick Day

**Sick Day**

"How in the universe do you manage it?" the Doctor mumbled as he snuggled in a little closer to Rose. "How do humans deal with all this excess heat? Not that I'm complaining, it's _heavenly_ …"

Jack snickered. Rose shot him a sharp glare as the Doctor, reminded once again of Jack's existence, grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to his other side, coughing into Jack's sleeve.

"We're not going to get sick, are we?" Rose asked practically, grabbing the throw from the end of the sofa and tucking it in around the three of them, as it seemed unlikely that the Doctor was about to let either of the two humans go.

"Nah," the Doctor said, flapping a hand ineffectually. "Just affects Gallifreyans. It's the ambient… thingy. Poor virus, it's probably going to die out now that they're all gone…"

He went on rambling for a few more minutes, his mouth clearly on autopilot. Jack snickered again.

"How did you catch this if it only affects Time Lords?" Rose asked.

"Dormant bugs in the semiphri—semi—semiphristat. Thing," the Doctor mumbled.

"O-kay," Rose said, coming to a decision. "Doctor, you're going to have to let me get up." The Time Lord grumbled a little, obviously annoyed at losing one of his heat sources, but released her arm. Rose stood up and marched first to one of the Classic Earth-style bedrooms, where she pulled the comforter off of the mattress. Returning to the sitting room, she dumped it on top of the Doctor and Jack, who seemed inordinately pleased with the fact that the Doctor's face was currently buried in his shoulder. Jack gave a squawk of indignation and the Doctor giggled. Rose went to the kitchen and searched the cabinets for tea—plain black tea. She filled the pot up with hot water, reveling in the luxury of having an actual tea pot, cups, sugar and cream, and when it was done she carried the tea service back to the others.

"Thanks, Mother," Jack grinned as she handed him his tea. The Doctor slapped Jack upside the head, his aim perfectly accurate despite his current infirmity. Rose sat down, tucked them all in again, and pointedly handed her book to Jack, who stared at her for a moment with raised eyebrows.

"Read," Rose commanded.

Jack cleared his throat, swallowed some more tea, and began.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit…"

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Apparently the idea of Jack, the Tenth Doctor, and Rose traveling in the TARDIS, while AU, is so popular that EVERYONE does it, so I stole it. Whatever :-P  
The Doctor is funny when he's loopy X-D


	8. Manifesto

**Manifesto**

This is what I am: Right here, right now, everything that matters. All that you can see is all that matters of me. I can not be summed up in words like a haiku or a sonnet. I am far more complex than that.

I swear here and now to do all that I can to help everyone I can, because my very presence changes matters, but I will not try to rewrite history. I will not play at God.

I understand that I am neither the cause nor the cure. I am a part of the problem, someone who must live with it, and who must live with myself if I fail.

I am the Doctor, and the most that I can do is to try my best.


	9. Vengeance

**Author's Note:** I have no excuse for this, except that Jack is the epitome of inappropriateness. :-P

 **Vengeance**

Martha sat down heavily on the couch by the TARDIS console, and the living ship made a small, gentle, comforting sound. Martha sighed. She was on the very verge of falling asleep and she welcomed that, especially the relaxed lethargy.

Suddenly, her peaceful time was broken into by a bloodcurdling cacophony of screams, cursing, and wild laughter. Martha sat bolt upright as Jack appeared with the Doctor hot on his heels, laughing madly and brandishing a bar of soap. Jack saw Martha and dived behind the chair. "Save me, Martha! He's gone crazy!" The Doctor advanced, a manic light in his eye, tossing the soap from hand to hand. Martha rolled her eyes. Boys and their games.

"I'm going to wash your mouth out, Jack!" the Doctor said ominously, but Martha saw the mischievous twinkle in his eye and relaxed.

"Go ahead and play, kids," she said, closing her eyes again. "Just remember, Doctor, humans are fragile. Don't go breaking them by accident."

Jack, who was breathing hard despite his apparent immortality and being in perfect shape, gave an unmanly squawk and made a dash for it, but the Doctor was too quick for him. "I told you! First day. No flirting, no dirty talk, and no un-called-for snogging! _Especially_ not me!"

The sounds of the scuffle died away into the distance as Martha closed her eyes in a well-earned nap.


	10. Summer

**Author's Note:** I felt this story was somewhat lacking in fluff and humor. So here's a little innocent Ten/Rose fluff, with some Jackie bewilderment thrown in! :-P (Also, is it just me or does everyone else think that the Tenth Doctor has some sort of body shyness? We know that the Eleventh doesn't, but when he's not wearing loose pajamas it seems like Ten is always wearing at least four flippin' layers. I would say it's because he has a hard time retaining body heat, being that thin, but... desert? Same coat as the snow planet, thank you very much. I think it's a bit adorable. And now that I've rambled way more than I intended to, please enjoy the story! ;-) )

* * *

 **Summer**

Summer of 2006 was a long and golden one.

Though the Doctor and Rose continued to travel, saving the world a few times, they also took a little time off (they had earned it, Rose said.) They took Jackie to a resort on Karralon, and she called the Doctor "sweetheart" again, the first time the Doctor had actually heard it. He made a face that was partly disturbed, partly bemused, and distinctly nervous, which Rose found hilarious.

* * *

"We've been here for a week, and we haven't even gone swimming!" Rose protested, pulling on the Doctor's arm. She could have sworn she felt him stiffen slightly, under the fabric. "You do know how to swim, don't you?"

"Of course I know how to swim!" the Doctor said snappishly.

"Do you like to swim?"

"As much as the next person, I suppose."

"What does that mean?" Rose asked. The Doctor sighed.

"Normally I'm swimming for my life, or to save the world. It's a bit hard to set your parameters for liking or not liking something when that's your life."

"Then why not find out?" Rose asked. "Come on. Please?"

"Just the thought of your mum in a bathing suit is putting me off," the Doctor muttered. Rose slapped him lightly on the arm. "Okay, fine!" he protested, rubbing his arm. Rose grinned.

"Come on!" she cheered, grabbing his arm and pulling him off.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, they were at the pool. Rose was wearing a one-piece suit with a little skirt, and Jackie was dressed similarly. The Doctor was awkwardly stumbling along in a bathrobe, hands shoved into pockets practically up to the elbows.

"You know you're going to have to take off the dressing gown sooner or later," Rose whispered. The Doctor frowned. "Are you blushing?" Rose asked.

The dressing gown was summarily discarded as Jackie, with a shriek, slipped and fell into the pool, dragging the abused garment with her. Rose couldn't help but snort. Underneath the much-vaunted robe, the Doctor was wearing perfectly normal swim gear and an athletic t-shirt. "You might as well just jump in," Rose said. The Doctor threw his hands up.

"Fine!" He leaped into the pool, long limbs thrown out, soaking everyone in the vicinity with the gigantic splash. Rose leaped in after him. They came up, the Doctor blowing water off the tip of his nose and pushing his soaked hair back. Rose splashed him. For a moment, he looked surprised, then he grinned mischievously.

It was _so_ on.

Jackie couldn't help but shake her head as she watched her daughter and her daughter's best friend chasing each other around the pool, splashing away. "Where did I go wrong?" she asked the life guard, who only laughed in reply.


	11. Accidents Happen

**Author's Note:** Because even Time Lords have their off days :-P

* * *

 **Accidents Happen**

"You kicked the Master in the jaw?!"

"I was _panicking_ , all right?"

The voices rose louder and louder. Jack looked up from his gossip magazine and grinned. They were at it again.

"I can't _believe_ you kicked the Master. In the _jaw_."

"So what if I have long legs?!"

Jack laughed into the sleeve of his trusty old coat. They were just about getting to his favorite part.

"You kicked the Master. In the jaw."

Silence.

"You kicked the Master in the face?! What about the 'I'm the last Time Lord, he's my responsibility' line?"

" _Martha._ "

Jack snickered into the announcement that Vickie Whatserface had gotten engaged. He didn't particularly care about half the gossip in the magazine, but the magazines had become an addiction. Thanks a lot, Lottie-at-Torchwood.

"I panicked, okay? I do stupid things when I panic! _Humans_ do stupid things when they panic, too, don't they?"

"I wouldn't know," Martha said in her not-quite-serious voice. She couldn't contain her laughter any longer and burst out into a fit of giggles.

"What?" More giggles from Martha.

"What? Seriously, _what?_ "

Martha said at last, still giggling, "You saved the world in a panic."

"I do it on adrenaline half the time. Your point?"

"Panic whenever you want, Mister," Martha said, obviously grinning. "This old planet isn't going any place."

* * *

I don't even know where I was going with this. *face desk* Expect to see a lot more gossip-column-obsessed Jack and Lottie-At-Torchwood _very_ soon, because it is headcanon now.


	12. Because You Can

**Author's Note:** For a change of pace (and because Paul McGann is amazing), I decided to do something with the Eighth Doctor for a change. It's a really big change of pace for me, because he seems a bit more scattered and less quirky than other Doctors I've seen, and also seems to lack that dark side that's such a constant presence with Nine and Ten. But then, I have to remember that the seriously messed-up stuff of the Time War still hasn't happened to him yet. Also I don't know anything else about the classic series... *gets pelted with pillows and fruit for not being a proper geek*

I apologize that it's really all dialogue and not much action or humor, but I was going for character study here.

Without further ado, the latest chapter of Superimposition!

 **Because You Can**

"I don't know how you live like this," Grace said, softly. "I know I couldn't. It's hard for me to even take it in." The Doctor glanced at her, a half-smile turning up one corner of his mouth.

"It isn't," he contradicted. "You've just been conditioned to not want to accept it. Humans, clinging to whatever they can find for a safety blanket, when the world is so much bigger… and when wonder might be a better anchor. But there's still that spark, hiding at the very back of your mind, buried under layers of pomp and ritual, begging you to let it out, even just once… That world out there, Grace, it's yours. Not yours to own, but yours to know, to seek out your heart's desire." He paused to think. "It's like the times when you run away, just because you can. When you have a free day to look forward to, that's why you look forward to it, because of all the possibilities undiscovered. You go places you haven't been before without fear of what you'll find, and even if you don't find anything quantifiable, when you leave you're surprised because you find yourself refreshed, as if the stress from your job or from school doesn't matter any more, as if you've been made a better person by it. Of course, it's not always nearly as safe or as simple, but that's the reason why I travel. I look for the lights hidden in the trees, the sparks among the ashes. They're always there, if only you bother to look."


	13. Pain

**WARNING**. This story contains not-quite-suicidal thoughts, close to self-harm, and other disturbing elements. If any of this disturbs you, STOP READING NOW. I'm posting two chapters at once so that you have something nice to read as well (if you read this at all, if not, just so you have something nice to read, period.)

This could be any of the Doctor's incarnations, really. I think it's prompted by the Time War, so probably Nine, Ten, Eleven or Twelve specifically. (But I don't know Eleven or Twelve so it's probably nothing like them.)

 **Pain**

Go on. Make it hurt. I deserve it.

Pain is good. It tells me I'm still alive. It tells me I can still feel.

I need to hurt. I'm so numb inside, so broken. I need to know that some of me is still there. There is a hole in my hearts where everyone used to be, but they all go away in the end. They all go away. Or I kill them.

I deserve this. I deserve this.

Sometimes when I'm numb I forget to breathe. Pain is good. After I scream I have to inhale. It's a reflex. It jump-starts my chest again.

That's why I look for trouble. I'm so numb, there's a hollow space in my head where everyone used to be and now they're all gone, they're dead and I killed them.

When it hurts, I know I'm alive. And I know I deserve it.

Maybe, one day, when I've suffered enough, then I can finally be at peace.

I can't see it yet.


	14. Donna Vs Spider

Here's a little humor to brighten your day and balance out the darkness of "Pain." Enjoy!

 **Donna Vs. The Spider**

The squeal that echoed through the TARDIS almost made the Doctor break his favorite mug as he prepared to make some tea. Deliberately setting down the mug (it was almost four hundred years old, after all, a gift from the Empress of China following a routine pest-control problem, and he didn't want to break it,) the Doctor headed to Donna's living space. He found Donna practically dancing on top of the couch, nervously brandishing a slipper. He made sure to approach her warily. (The last time he had startled someone—Martha—he had walked away with a palm-shaped bruise on one cheek.)

"Donna?" he inquired, nervously.

"It's bloody _huge_ ," Donna breathed, staring in horror at a spot on the floor. The Doctor looked down, at the floor.

"What?" he asked.

"Spider," Donna squeaked. The Doctor looked again.

"Oh, that? It's just a little…" Donna brought the shoe in her hand back. "Donna! _No!_ " The Doctor hurriedly scooped up the traumatized spider. "Donna, you can't kill the spider." Donna was staring with round eyes at the spider (now in the palm of the Doctor's hand.)

"Oh no. Doctor, he'll bite you!"

"Of course he'll bite, if you keep scaring him like that." the Doctor said, giving Donna a sharp look. "Yes, I know she scares you, but that's no reason to be like that," he said sharply to the spider. "Oh, don't start! I know she's five foot five and weighs a thousand times what you do, you still shouldn't insult people like that! She's not even mean like some humans. Donna's kind, and brilliant, and… no I do _not_ have a crush on her. Not married, not going to get married. Don't change the subject. I'm sorry, Carl, but you can't stow away aboard the TARDIS any longer. No, Carl, I know you want to see the universe, but Earth is really the best place for you. Yes, Carl, I will come to your wedding. Thank you. No, I won't tell you my real name so you can name your firstborn after me. There's only one reason I would ever tell anyone that and that is not it. Oh, and stay out of humans' houses. You're less likely to die a sudden and horrible death that way. Carl, that is a truly horrible idea, you can just sit out and hibernate with all the smart spiders." The Doctor looked up at Donna, as if suddenly realizing that she was still there. "Oh, Donna. We're going to need to make a quick detour to Earth, drop Carl off. Then we can go on ahead. That all right?"

"Carl," Donna said.

"Yes, that's right."

"The spider is named _Carl_."

"Yes, he told me so."

"Okay."

"Okay!" The Doctor left the room, carrying Carl with him. Donna shut the door and flopped face down on the couch.

"Bloody Martian."


	15. An Essay on Sexism (by the DoctorDonna)

**An Essay on Sexism (by the DoctorDonna)**

"Spaceman." Donna said as the Doctor entered the console room. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you." The Doctor frowned.

"What is it?" he said, almost apprehensively.

"It seems like most of your friends are women," Donna began without preamble. "Rose, Martha… Why?" The Doctor frowned, thinking hard, and leaned back against the console.

"People tend to gravitate to people who are like them," he said at last. Donna sighed.

"I don't follow."

"I'm a bit telepathic. Brilliant. Don't like to color inside the lines," the Doctor explained. "The closest thing to telepathy Earth has is empathy—feeling compassion for other people. For me to be able to stand someone's company, they have to be clever, and comfortable thinking outside the box. Sort of open-minded. And for some reason, on Earth, those traits, while common to both genders, tend to converge in women. It's not really sexist or sexual at all… it's just that I identify with a certain type, and that type is most commonly female with humans. In a way, on Earth, women are much freer than men are. Men aren't supposed to show emotion, while women are expected to show it from time to time, and there's a whole set of expectations that's very limiting. Sexism does as much disservice to men as it does to women, I think." Donna frowned.

"Was that your backhanded way of giving a compliment?" she asked. The Doctor thought about it.

"Probably."

"You need practice," Donna decided.

"I've gotten better at being nice to people!" the Doctor exclaimed, outraged. Donna laughed.

"You've still got a long way to go, Spaceman."


	16. Turn, Turn, Turn

**Author's Note:** Basically, this is just a nursery rhyme... While the clock aesthetic works very well, I also thought that the Time Lords would be very focused on the motion of objects as defined by time. So this is actually sort of meta on the part of "Rose" where the Doctor tells Rose that he can feel the movements of the planets, the motion of Earth hurtling through space... Also, the concept of things moving within their orbits, the Moon circling the Earth, the Earth circling the Sun, the Solar System orbiting the center of the Milky Way Galaxy, the Milky Way Galaxy circling other galaxies... and everything moving outward into the unknown beyond our universe! *she said gleefully as she revealed just how much of a huge science geek she was* A sphere is just such a beautiful, beautiful, quintessential form, and spheres within spheres, don't even get me started.

Anyway, I thought the Time Lords' culture would have a bunch of references to these orbits within orbits within orbits, and it might also partially explain the obsession with order and perfection (and who knows, maybe the Time Lords were part of the reason why matter spins around itself like it does in the known universe? Because they're such gravity masters, apparently, if they "practically invented black holes.") That would also slip over into children's stories and nursery rhymes (a bit like indoctrination, if you will, if we're looking at the darker side of Gallifrey.)

And look, I just ranted...

ANYWHEN. Enjoy the nursery rhyme. Sorry to keep you all. *salutes and vanishes*

* * *

 **Turn, Turn, Turn**

Turn, turn, turn away,

Each moves within its whirling wheel,

All the spheres come out to play,

All the perfect moments steal.

* * *

Order rules both time and space,

As within their worlds we roam,

Every atom has its place,

Every second has its home.

* * *

Wanderers that feel the turning,

Crossing on from sphere to sphere

Underneath each new sun's burning

Wanderers that travel here.

* * *

Music, laughter, joy and pain,

Hope and love and shivering fear,

The years turn round the worlds again,

And everything moves in its sphere.

* * *

First the sun shines on the plains,

Sweet life within the nave of day,

And then the moon comes once again,

So turn, and turn, and turn, away.

* * *

By the way, if you really really want to, you can borrow this nursery rhyme and put it in your fanfics. Just be sure to acknowledge me as the original author, as ErinKenobi2893 (or just Erin) on the AnotherBook account, and please, if you use it, send me a link! I'd love to read any fanfictions containing this nursery rhyme. :-)


	17. Piano

**Piano**

Rose watched as the Doctor's hands flew over the keyboard, playing a precise series of notes like a cascade of glass drops hanging in the still air. His look of concentration was mirrored in the perfect black finish. The music was deep and powerful, like a force of nature.

"You're doing all that… by memory?" she whispered in awe. The Doctor shrugged, playing three passionate chords and carrying on with the piece. "That's incredible."

"One of the perks of having an eidetic memory," the Doctor murmured, continuing to play.

"How are you doing that with just two hands?" Rose asked.

"It's… hard to explain."

"Could you teach me?" Rose asked eagerly. The Doctor glanced up at her.

"You won't be able to play like this—not at first," he warned. Rose shrugged.

"Practice, I know, but any amount of time to be able to play like that… _Half_ that well," she said. "That's worth it." The Doctor grinned and slid over on the piano bench, making space for her.

"Now, keep your wrists up, but relaxed, and your fingers curved," he directed. Taking her flat hand, he pressed her fingers on the keys. The piano made an indignant, discordant _donk!_ Rose giggled. Then the Doctor gently formed her fingers into a graceful arch and pressed them down again. The piano went _plonk!_ again. "See how much more force you have to use when your fingers are flat? You're stronger when you keep a natural curve to them. Don't play with your hands flat—it's a waste of time and energy, and it'll tire your wrists out in no time flat." Rose laid her hands on the keyboard, but her wrists seemed to have another idea—the moment she tried to press down on the keys, her wrists caved in. "Here." The Doctor took Rose's wrists gently, supporting them. "You'll build up your wrist strength with time," he said encouragingly. "Now, press the white keys, one after another. Don't stop until you've played right back to the beginning."

"What does that mean?" Rose asked, frowning. The Doctor grinned like a little kid.

"You'll figure it out," he said. Obediently, Rose started to press the keys he indicated, stopping eight notes later. The Doctor smiled. "Exactly right. That's a scale, C major. Whole step, whole step, half step, whole step, whole step, whole step, whole step, and right back to C, an octave higher. Think of whole steps as a sort of measurement of a tone's pitch."

"And half steps are just half that size," Rose said.

"Right. We'll stick with C major at first. No need to bother with the black keys just yet—those're the other half steps. This is a major chord—your basic chord." He pressed three keys in unison. "This is a seven chord—it's got a bit of discord but never mind that, whenever you use it it'll be resolved into a major chord, nine times out of ten." He guided her hands to the right keys, pressing down the chords.

* * *

Rose and the Doctor sat down at the piano, and she began to play a simple melody. The Doctor's hands darted around hers, playing an intricate and powerful cascade of notes, and they wrote their own song, just as they always did.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The song that the Doctor is playing is "Winterspell" by Thomas Bergersen. Go search it on YouTube.  
I have a headcanon that the Doctor normally plays Earth music when he's got companions along, because Gallifrey's music tends to sound way too complex and busy to humans, as classical Gallifreyan music has many more melodies than typical Earth music, and they don't exactly always sound harmonious to humans. (I am probably getting way too into this.)


	18. Handwriting

**Handwriting**

It was a quiet afternoon aboard the TARDIS, the only sound the occasional turn of a page of Rose's book or the scritch-scratch of the Doctor's fountain pen.

The Doctor threw the pen down and ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. Rose could not understand a single word of the few she caught here and there. She got up and wandered over to the eighteenth century-style desk. "What's wrong?"

"It's not coming out right," he complained, gesturing at the doodles that could only be described as scrawls on the paper across from him. "The loops don't close and my hand always shakes in the middle of the uprights. It's a disaster."

"What are you talking about?" Rose asked, confused.

"My handwriting!" Rose squinted at the scrawls on the page.

"Couldn't possibly be worse than what you had before," she remarked. The Doctor was too upset to be annoyed with that remark.

"I have to learn how to write, all over again… This is the part I really hate about regeneration!" He ran his hand through his hair again in frustration.

"Maybe it's because that's the hand that got cut off?" Rose offered, tongue in cheek. The Doctor gave her a meaningful look, and she sighed. "Or not. Okay, that was not in good taste." She added, under her breath, "Of _course_ you'd have to be a perfectionist."

"I heard that!" the Doctor interrupted. Rose picked up the paper which he'd been practicing on.

"It still looks better than your last handwriting," she pointed out. "This looks like something you couldn't be taught in school."

"Does it?" It was almost pathetic, how hopeful he looked at that.

"I think so," she said. "Come on. Back on the horse. Practice makes perfect, you know what they say."

The Doctor picked up the pen again. "If only."


	19. Disney

**Author's note:** Basically me (and the Doctor, of course!) taking a humorous bash at princess movies. I don't apologize :-P

Also, please drop in for the previous chapter! All the errors have been cleaned up and everything. It's looking much better now.

 **Disney**

Martha was just about done with this nonsense.

She'd undertaken the Doctor's "cultural education," as it were. On the agenda was a series of Disney movies. Unfortunately for her, the Doctor didn't seem to follow the logic (or lack thereof) of entertainment value.

 _The Lion King:_ "I remember this. Of course, lions don't really behave this way and monkeys don't whack people upside the head, but you can't have it all."

 _Atlantis: The Lost Empire:_ "Atlantis doesn't look like that. And why is there a talking crystal? That doesn't even look like a proper superconductor! I did like Milo, though."

 _Brave:_ "What period was this supposed to be set in? It doesn't look remotely familiar."

 _Aladdin:_ "What is historical accuracy to these people?"

 _Tangled:_ "Boy meets girl. Girl has magic hair which is no longer magic once cut. Somehow all her hair gets cut off with not one single strand neglected, and suddenly her tears are magic too! Why didn't they discover that before? Is she just too proud to cry except when the love of her life is dying? Seriously, I've seen better chick flicks on Raxicoricophalliptorious!"

 _Snow White:_ "She can't sing, not even for her life."

 _Cinderella:_ "There were 40 more pages in the book!"

 _Sleeping Beauty:_ "Oh, finally, a classic fairy tale. And the villain dies a gruesome death. There we are."

 _Pocahontas:_ "What in the name of the Seven Seasons of Kalakime is this?!"

 _Beauty and the Beast:_ "Talking crockery, and a girl with an actual temper. That's a nice change."

Martha was almost ready to give up. But then the Doctor insisted that they watch _Treasure Planet_ , and sang along with all the songs.

Ah well. She had never really cared for princess movies, anyway.

Maybe they'd have better luck with John Wayne./p


	20. Frozen Heart

**Author's Note:** Of course I had to take a children's movie and make it sad. Blame this one on Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss-their work is much better at breaking hearts than mine.

(To all my reviewers who suggested _Frozen_ or mentioned that I didn't mention it, this is for you. You're welcome.)

 **Frozen Heart**

Martha held out the DVD box. "What about this one?" she pleaded. The Doctor gave it a careless, casual glance, and if it hadn't been for his tiny, but sharp, inhalation—almost a hiccup—she wouldn't have given it a second look.

"Seen it," he informed her calmly, heading over to the TARDIS console and tinkering with a few of the elements.

"Why not see it again?" Martha shrugged. The Doctor glanced at her and as quickly looked away again.

"I didn't like that one," he said measuredly. Martha gasped.

"Why? It's the best!"

"I don't like _Frozen_ ," the Doctor repeated, voice expressionless.

"Why not?"

"She reconciles with her sister in the end. I'm never going to have that chance. I said goodbye to my wife one morning and walked out the door. I thought I'd be back in a few days. I never got back. I never saw them again."

"What happened?" Martha whispered.

"Separation order." Martha's eyes widened.

"Why?"

"Because I dared to think for myself. I went against the Law of Non-Interference and in retaliation they took my family from me. I couldn't help myself. I just had to help that poor child, and I paid for it dearly. And now they're all dead. I never got to say that last goodbye to my wife, tell my sons I loved them, call my daughters 'princess'… Long story short, I don't like Frozen. For some reason, it just triggers the grief and the anger all over again. I let it go—I just let it go—and my world came crashing down and I won't get the chance to ever reconcile because true love couldn't save them from their own father!" The Doctor looked away, inhaling sharply through his nose to hide a sniffle. "'Beware the Frozen Heart.' They were talking about the hearts inside of us, you know."

"That wasn't your fault," Martha said quietly.

"You don't know that," the Doctor replied.

"If you'd actually had a choice and still done it, would you be feeling this guilty?" Martha asked. The Doctor didn't answer. Martha held her arms out. "Come here." The Doctor soundlessly shook his head at her, as if not comprehending. "Come on!" Martha beckoned. Slowly and awkwardly, the Doctor wrapped his arms around her in turn. Martha tried to massage away the tenseness in his muscles unsuccessfully, but gave up the attempt after a few moments of awkward silence.

"Thank you," the Doctor said at last. "For believing in me. I'm not sure that there's anything to believe in, but thanks all the same."


	21. Ask Me Not

**Ask Me Not**

"What makes you think you have it in you to be a doctor?" the Matron asked. He raised his hands.

"I have two hands," he said. She raised an eyebrow.

"Explain," the Matron said.

"Two hands, to aid those who need help." He swallowed. "Two feet, to run to help them, or to carry them from danger. A tongue to speak counsel. Two eyes, to see the best course of action; two ears to hear their cries. Two hearts…" he hesitated, then forged on. "Two hearts, for compassion's sake."

"You're untested," the Matron said. "Only time will tell."

 **Author's Note:** Another Doctor origin story! I'm getting a lot of these for some reason...

Inspired by my thoughts on the Hippocratic Oath and what it means to be a doctor. Might get a continuation some time, if someone suggests a viable way for me to continue it and enough people beg for one... ;-)


	22. Box of Memories

**Author's Note:** Because Donna is definitely capable of being sensitive. And this short story series doesn't have NEARLY enough Donna. ;-)

* * *

 **Box of Memories**

Donna wasn't sure if she was supposed to be here. She wasn't entirely sure that she wasn't snooping, but here she was, searching for something the Doctor had asked for, and feeling uncomfortable because it seemed like some of these things were _extremely_ personal to him. While Donna was blunt, she was no eavesdropper or snooper, and she definitely did care about the mad Martian she had joined on his travels.

She made sure to leave the books that suspiciously resembled journals and photo albums very firmly _shut_ , but she couldn't help but look at the small mementos and such. There was a strange glass ball with sparkling _something_ inside, another in a clawed setting with something screaming and clawing inside—she set _that_ one aside in a hurry—shells, an agate bracelet, a ship in a bottle, sketches on loose paper, tiny woodcarvings, a single red flower floating in a house of crystal, the little cast-off pieces and memorabilia left from a nine-hundred-year lifetime.

She was almost at the bottom of the box, with nothing even resembling what she had been sent to find, when she startled as she was lifting out a small ornate box. It had suddenly tinkled as she lifted it free.

She glanced at the box, which had begun to play a tinkling little folk tune in her hand. It appeared to be hand-made and hand-painted. It seemed that the key had become jammed as it sat in the box, leaving it partly wound for who knew how many years, and it now was unwinding itself, playing a sad, distant little song, almost a lament for things that had been long since lost and forgotten—things that would never be found, or would never be again.

The music box wound down, and Donna placed it guiltily back into the chest, laying everything back in it, as close as she could to as it had been. She would never, _never_ ask about any of these things, and she would leave them undisturbed.

Donna, despite having a sharp tongue, knew how to keep silent.


	23. Clumsy

**Author's Note:** Oh look-yet another regeneration tag. (But it has to have side-effects, right?) I can't promise I'll ever stop doing these, though. :-P

 **Clumsy**

It started at Christmas dinner.

They'd been having a perfectly normal—or at least as normal as the Tyler clan plus one got—dinner, complete with roasted turkey, stuffing, and all the classic foods.

And the Doctor, his hand slipping, bent his fork on the edge of the plate.

It was quickly laughed off, but Rose couldn't help but notice the chagrin with which the Doctor cautiously bent the fork back into shape.

The second time it happened, the Doctor had been drawing on the back of a magazine. He went to get an actual piece of loose paper at Rose's behest, and when he came back, he picked up the pencil clumsily and accidentally snapped it into two halves. The deep flush on his face could not possibly have been a trick of the light, but he silently picked up one of the still fairly good-sized halves and began to sharpen it.

The third time, he'd been cutting out newspaper clippings for a collage that they were making to hang in Rose's bedroom on the TARDIS—and he didn't actually slip, but accidentally rammed the scissors a couple of centimeters' worth into the fortunately already-scarred craft table. He pulled them out with ease and threw them on the floor in a quickly-vanishing fit of passion. He sat back, running his hands through his hair.

"Are you okay?" Rose asked. He shrugged.

"I feel like a bull in a china shop," he sighed. Rose frowned.

"Why?"

"Still learning to… I have to learn to do everything all over again. This body's different from what I remember. Not used to my own strength."

"Ah," Rose said.

"Everything here is so flimsy—and I'm scared that if I touch you, I'll break you too—" He sighed, resting his chin on his hands.

"You shouldn't worry about that," Rose said sternly. "If you did hurt me by accident, you know I'd forgive you."

"It wouldn't make it any different that I'd hurt you," the Doctor protested. "I don't know what impression you came away with from the sword fight—"

"Apart that I'm grateful you can do things that are pretty freaky?" Rose teased. He continued seriously.

"But I'm stronger than I look to you. Especially my hands—I've always had stronger fingers than other Time Lords, don't know why. And when fine motor control goes—" He mimed breaking something. "That happens. I need time to readjust to it, get my control back." Rose listened thoughtfully.

"Ever played Cat's Cradle?" she asked. He nodded slowly.

"The game with the string loop making shapes? Yes, we did something similar when I was a child." Rose grinned.

"Fastest silhouette wins."


	24. Memento Mori

**Memento Mori**

The Doctor had not been having a good day.

First of all, Rose had been hijacked by (probably) the most selfish woman (skin-sheet with makeup) in the universe, and been used against him. Then every plague ever imagined, every disease that had ever existed, had been unleashed in the hospital, thanks to Cassandra's stupidity. The Doctor was more than just angry. He had reached that state of cold rage where anger did not cloud his mind, only sharpened it, and the fact that that state had been maintained for minutes on end was beginning to make him snippish and jittery in pettish ways.

But now, lives had been saved, slaves set free, and adrenaline was beginning to fade away.

It was a victory, but it didn't feel like one.

"I don't want to die," Cassandra sobbed. The Doctor glanced at her, compassion taking the lead despite his anger.

"No one really does," he replied, his voice dull. Awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around her. "But everyone has to." Cassandra, all her pride devastated, laid low, her soul laid bare by the future before her, cried into his chest, both hearts beating out against her forehead: _This too shall pass_.

Every heartbeat was counting down the minutes, hours, seconds he had left in the world. He wasn't certain if he feared death, didn't know how much longer he wanted to live, but he didn't want to die.

It was a very primal fear, the fear of the unknown. But that had always seemed to work backwards with him—what terrified other people and drove them away held this possibly-unhealthy attraction for him.

He wanted to go farther, to run forever, to go on meeting and knowing extraordinary people. He didn't know that he was afraid of death, but maybe he was afraid of the effect his death would have on the world he had tried so hard to protect.

He knew, logically, that loss had to happen.

He thought, emotionally, that he didn't have to accept that. His defiance, laughing purposefully at the dark, to steal these souls—to snatch them, daring, from the very teeth of hell.

 _Once in a while, when his luck held—just this once, everybody lives. Everybody lives. To hold back death—the dream of a child. The dreams of a child can hold back death. The smallest candle can hold back the night._

And that was why he didn't think it was a bad thing to act childish, or even child-like. Letting the dreams and imagination and wonder of a child slip—that was one of life's deepest tragedies.

The dream of a child can hold back death.

The despair of adulthood hastens it.

And this was his defiance: to laugh at the dark, to change the course of Fate, to snatch these souls from the Devil's claws and to save the life of just one more person, to play against the clock and _win_.

Despair was not in his nature.

 _Know that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return_.

Life ticked down, trickled away like dust on the wind, but his own hearts beat out his defiance for it.

He might not want to die.

He might be scared of dying.

That did not mean he was afraid of Death.

Even as his hearts beat down the hours left in his life, they beat out his defiance, holding the darkness back.

In the war where souls were the stakes, his own hearts beat out the victory sign.

"Courage," he whispered. "Courage."

 **Author's Note:** Whew! That was quite a story...

This was inspired by a few different conversations I had with friends. I think it started with Human Nature/Family of Blood and went from there on out... And I ended up using this to try to explain how the Tenth Doctor feels about death. It's very complicated... *sigh*


	25. Overturn

**Author's Note:** So what do you get when I take too long a hiatus from fanfic writing?

Um... Nine/Rose fluff?

This might seem a bit rushed, but that seemed like a good place to close...

I haven't written the Ninth Doctor before. This should be interesting. Please tell me if I got it right!

 **Overturn**

2012\. The Mitchell household.

Or it had been a second ago.

Now it was the Time Vortex instead.

The fashion of justice they attempted had been served, and Rose felt drained. The Doctor was silent.

Rose left the console room, throwing herself down on the couch in the first room she came to. She closed her eyes, rubbing them in frustration.

It was her fault that Adam had fallen. It was her idea to bring him along. She should have told him no. What would the Doctor think? Was he angry with her as well? Was that why he was so quiet? But if that was the case, then why had he said "I've got Rose"?

A quiet voice at the back of her mind said she was overthinking this, that she was panicking for no reason.

This life was sometimes beautifully simple, but often it was so very complex, even bewildering. What was she, not more than a human child, wandering the universe but not quite understanding it?

"Rose? Are you in there?" the Doctor's voice called, muffled, through the door. "The TARDIS won't let me in. Are you all right in there?"

"Yeah," Rose wiped her watery eyes with her sleeve, erasing the exhausted tears, and ran a hand through her hair. "You can come in if you want."

The door cracked open and the Doctor peered in. "Rose?"

"I made a mistake," Rose said in a small voice. "I shouldn't have let Adam come along."

"Rose," the Doctor sat down next to her, "people like Adam choose their own path. By the time he sat down in that chair, he wasn't the Adam you invited to come along. He wasn't the Adam who wanted to walk among the stars. Maybe that Adam never even existed, but that's not on you, Rose. Adam fell to his own greed. I've seen it thousands of times, I should have recognized what was happening."

"But you said 'on your head be it,'" Rose said. The Doctor's eyes widened and a small laugh burst from his lips.

"I was talking about getting your heart broken," he said. "There's a reason for the no-boyfriends rule. Though, I suppose that this is a different kind of heartbreak. No, if anyone's responsible, it's me. And now it's been dealt with. Rose, if he ever said he liked you, he didn't deserve you." There was a strange kind of urgency in his voice as he said that. Rose laughed sadly and lifted her head high.

"I _know_ he didn't," she said, with an attempt at sass. The Doctor smiled, seemingly relieved.

"Good. Now, before we go any further, let's get this straight. I do not expect you to know everything. I don't expect you to know who's going to betray us. Sometimes you just trust the wrong person, it's impossible to live life without making a few mistakes and a few betrayals of your trust. It's better to just respond to these things when they happen, accept them and then move on. No regrets. I don't expect you to be anything other than you, Rose, because you are perfect exactly as you are."

"You think so?" Rose asked. The Doctor huffed.

"I said it, so it must be true," he said. Rose shoved him.

"You think you're so impressive," she teased.

"I am so impressive!" The Doctor managed, even after all this time, to still sound offended. Rose wiped her itchy eyes again and half-smiled.

"Where shall we go next?"

"Anywhere," the Doctor replied.


	26. Vision

**Visions**

 _Come closer, child. Don't be afraid. This isn't safe, I know, but I'll protect you. I promise._

 _What a life you've got ahead of you, you saucy little rascal! You're going to defy Rassilon and run away, and you're going to turn the worlds upside down. Good for you._

 _You'll even rewrite history, and you'll inspire such loyalty. Our Children of Time, sweetheart. You'll make heroes of them. Don't blame yourself—you bring out the best and worst in people. See, it's started already, child._

"There are monsters out there."

 _Yes, I know._

"They're calling. They know my name."

 _No, they don't. They don't have to know. They don't have to have any power over you. You're a prince, child. All of time and space is your inheritance._

"I want to see it."

 _Maybe you will. Someday._

"I have to go. I have to see it. It's pulling on me. It needs me."

 _It will._

"I need to go."

 _Not yet._

"Who are you?"

 _I love all my children._

 _Go, child. Go forth._

 _And, because I am merciful: Forget._


	27. Power and Poison

**Power and Poison**

I tasted Power, and it was intoxicating.

I stood over a world and two races and watched as they burned down to ashes and dust, heartless, unmoving, like a statue. I made them burn. I set them on fire and watched, the heat scorching my face, ash beating against my face on a hot desert wind.

They burned for me.

* * *

I tasted Power, and it tasted like salt and blood and electricity.

Too many had died in that war.

I fought in the war. I was a soldier.

I never will be a soldier again. Ever.

Always the Doctor.

 _Never_ a soldier.

* * *

I tasted Power, and it tasted like pain.

This is what it is, to destroy everything you love.

This is what it is, to be alone.

Because that is Power as well. Power corrupts. Power destroys. Power burns.

It burns like the whips on the Slave-Ships of Skaro and the psychic screams of your own people. It burns like the agony of having your mind turned inside out in a lesson on how to resist torture.

It is the ability to burn them all again, to destroy all life on a planet and the ships stalking it.

And Strength is the ability to say no.

I tasted Power. It tasted _wrong._


	28. Chance Meeting

**Chance Meeting**

Amelia's little red-edged suitcase was hidden, already packed, under her bed, ready for anything. Though it had been weeks, she had never quite stopped hoping. The Doctor was real—realer than grownups knew, anyway. Realer than their concept of the world.

She was walking home from school through an avenue of fallen autumn leaves, gold and red and orange and brown and violet, rustling and laughing with every step. She had decided to take the Long Way home today—all she wanted was Alone Time for the moment.

So it was a bit of a shock when she came across the tall, thin figure of a man, covered in a long, dirty tan coat, sprawled in the leaves across the path.

"Are you all right?" she called, concern instantly washing away her annoyance. The man started, rolling over and twisting into a sitting position.

"I'm fine—" He coughed behind his hand, clutching his chest. "Just a dizzy spell…"

 _Funny dust motes,_ Amelia thought, watching them dart and shimmer as they weaved around him, catching the sun. He coughed again into his hand.

"A forest on fire," he choked out. "It's beautiful."

"Should I call help?" Amelia asked. He shook his head.

"No use. I'll be off in a minute. I only came here by accident. But I'm glad I did." He staggered to his feet.

"Have a fantastic life, Amelia," he wheezed, walking off into the trees. Amelia squinted, thinking she could catch the faintest trace of blue, but it was probably only her imagination, since she'd been looking for that box for weeks.

How did he know her name?

She shrugged, dismissing it, and continued towards home.

Maybe the Doctor would be back tonight.

 **Author's Note:** I watched "The Eleventh Hour" and then went back and watched a couple of episodes with the Tenth Doctor tonight. And this is what you get. (It's 9 p.m. and I should probably go to bed because I'm getting all punchy and rant-y.)

If it was unclear, this is set in the sequence when Ten is going back to see all his companions one last time before his regeneration. (Hence the energy mist, which Amelia mistakes for dust motes.) And he runs into little Amy by accident, several weeks after his future regeneration left to make the "quick five-minute hop into the future." Which, on second thought, could be the reason why he came to Amy in the first (second?) place in "The Eleventh Hour." Timey wimey! :-P

If you were wondering how he knew her name... weeeellll...

I'm rationalizing that by saying that since he's so close to regeneration, his ability to feel the way the timestream flows is going a little sideways. Aka, he's unconsciously receiving memories from his future self (selves?), but that'll go back to normal once he's recovered from the regeneration. According to my headcanon, regeneration is a pretty awkward time, with strange effects on the timeline itself-so it's not only disorienting and painful, but can also be kind of dangerous to the way Time works, which is probably why most of the time the Doctor tries to get back to the TARDIS before regenerating, so the TARDIS can compensate for the effect and keep it from getting all messed-up.

Voila. Unintentional worldbuilding. This is what I do with my life.

Well, hopefully I broke all your little hearts with this... *sinister villain laugh* No, seriously. I hope you enjoyed the story and Big Things are coming in the future, if I can ever buckle down and get them done.

God Bless!


	29. Mess

**Author's Note:** Another completely random plot bunny-continuing in the vein of the last chapter, this one has Ten running into River Song-much earlier than he met her in "Silence in the Library." Whyyyyy? I don't know.

Also, River Song is an intriguing character-but I feel like her backstory could be handled just a little bit better, maybe? Um. This is super confusing, sorry. I'm never very coherent after 9 p.m. but that's also when I get my best ideas.

You can't trust her, though-well, you can trust her to be with you through thick and thin, but not necessarily to do as you ask her. ;-P

* * *

 **Mess**

"What happened to you?" Rose asked as the Doctor re-entered the TARDIS, looking even more disheveled than usual and with streaks of dirt across his face.

"Let me go clean up. Back in a tick!" the Doctor promised as he made for the bathroom. Rose waited, practically vibrating with curiosity. The Doctor reappeared shortly afterward, toweling his hair. Rose raised her eyebrows.

"So?"

"River Song kneed me in the back and scrubbed my face in the mud," the Doctor explained. "She's out of control."

"Okay," Rose said at last. "I suppose that makes sense. Sort of."

"Yup," the Doctor said, popping the "p."


	30. Stop And Stare

**Stop And Stare**

Jackie was out shopping.

Rose and the Doctor were curled up on the armchair and sprawled on the couch, respectively. Rose was reading through the _Ranger's Apprentice_ series, and the Doctor, ironically, was reading something that seemed to be a history book. The silence was occasionally broken by the Doctor's indignant snort as he discovered yet another mangling of historical fact and Rose's accompanying giggles.

Rose was getting to the comfortable point when the Doctor's annoyance was part of the background, not distracting. In her mind, Will had the Doctor's untameable hair (maybe the inability to stop asking questions or the perky personality had something to do with it?) But she couldn't figure out who was supposed to be Halt, in that case. She stuffed the sleeve of her sweater in her mouth to stifle a laugh. She certainly wasn't. Halt would, if he was there, have mumbled something about her being a bad influence on him. Or both of them being bad influences on each other. The mental image nearly sent her into uncontrollable tears of laughter. Somehow, she managed to keep it down to a few giggling snorts.

A few minutes later, she looked up to see the Doctor looking intently at her. She started and clapped a hand over her chest. "Don't do that, Doctor!" she gasped. "You nearly scared the life out of me!"

"I wouldn't want to do that," the Doctor said, eyes widening slightly.

"Stop that," Rose said, feeling a blush creep across her face. The Doctor frowned.

"Stop what? What am I doing?"

"You're staring at me like a cat with a bird," Rose informed him. He raised one eyebrow.

"Like a cat with a bird? Rose, I'm just looking at you."

"Look, I wouldn't expect you to understand," Rose said condescendingly, standing up and stretching, "but in human culture we have gestures. Body language. And staring at people generally means something. That's why it's considered _rude_."

"It means what?" the Doctor asked, swinging his legs off the arm of the couch without stopping looking at her with that wide-eyed, almost innocent, but still disconcerting stare.

"I don't know! It implies that you like someone, or you're a creepy stalker." The Doctor shook his head.

"Rose, I'm _just_ looking at you," he protested. Rose rolled her eyes. Trust him to not get one of the fundamental layers of manners.

"Was this Time Lord society, or is it just you?" she asked rhetorically. The Doctor pulled thoughtfully at his ear.

"You know… it could be just me," he admitted at last. Rose grinned in triumph.

"I knew it!" she crowed. Then, she paused. "Why were you staring at me?"

"You're nicer to look at than anything else in this room," the Doctor told her. "And I was thinking."

"Was that an insult or a compliment?" Rose wondered aloud. Then her jaw dropped. "Wait, did you just tell me I'm pretty?"

"Best sight on Earth, in _my_ opinion," the Doctor grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Rose waved him off.

"What were you thinking about, anyway?"

"I was just wondering if you'd ever seen an eclipse. Observed it properly, I mean, not on the way to work." Rose shook her head.

"That's an odd thing to stare at someone over, Doctor," she said. The Doctor frowned.

"Well, no one's told me that before! Anyway. Have you?"

"No, I haven't. Why didn't you ask earlier?" Rose countered. The Doctor sighed.

"I was just thinking, because there's a lunar eclipse tonight…" He inhaled slowly, wrinkling his nose. "Totality will get here in exactly nine hours and thirty-six seconds, and it's going to last for two hours. Are you game?"

"Are you asking me on a date, Doctor?" Rose asked, teasingly. This time, she could tell that he was definitely playing with her.

"How do humans define a date?" he asked innocently.

Exactly six hours and thirty-six seconds later, the two of them were seated on the roof of one of London's buildings, and the Doctor was avidly sonicing Rose's phone in the attempt to get it to deliver a clearer, brighter picture. Rose was laughing at his efforts and pouring out mugs of steaming, rich hot chocolate from a thermos. The Doctor gave it up as impossible and reached into his pocket, finding a camera. He handed it to Rose. "For thousands of years, human beings stared up at the sky," he said quietly. "Wondering, and dreaming, and asking questions. And I don't think anyone ever will have all the answers, but they've found out things that are hard to believe. It's impossible, and it's beautiful. All of time and space, and it belongs to you. It belongs to everyone. A wider world…" He fell silent, staring up at the night sky, as if he could discern the stars clouded by pollution of air and of light.

"I used to dream of those stars too…" he said thoughtfully. "They called to me. I couldn't resist. Different constellations, but the stars are the same. Even the ones I couldn't see with my eyes—I could feel them, whirling in their spheres, blazing at thousands of degrees into the coolness of the vacuum beyond. They were held together so perfectly, so precariously. And they burned life into their systems. I couldn't resist their call. Gallifreyan cribs—they never have mobiles, Rose. I suppose it's because they're afraid that children might turn out like me, hungry to see the stars, in wonder. There's danger in wonder. It can turn the universe on its ear. They didn't want that. They were so shored-up behind barriers of inextricable knowledge and superstition that they couldn't dream that the world was wider and wilder and more beautiful than anything imagination could invent." Dreamily, he traced a pattern across the dark blue sky with his fingers.

"It's starting!" Rose whispered excitedly.

They watched as the Moon rose and slid into the Earth's shadow together. Once, Rose glanced down at what the Doctor was doing and finding him intently at work with a sketchbook, colored pencils and charcoals. They sat, not moving for hours, until the eclipse was long over and they were becoming stiff and cold, even with the piles of blankets they'd brought. Then, they returned to the apartment and turned in.

Several weeks later, Rose found the Doctor's sketchbook. It contained dozens of drawings of the progression of the eclipse and the beautiful, coppery-red moon at totality, along with one fanciful sketch of the Moon as a veiled maiden, hiding in the Earth's shadow—and one, very carefully realized and detailed drawing of her, holding a steaming mug and glancing at the sky.

The note at the bottom titled it "The Impossible Dreamer."

Rose smiled.

 **Author's Note:** Written in honor of the total lunar eclipse tomorrow (Sunday, September 27) night. The eclipse will be visible throughout much of Europe, Africa, and North and South America (except, of course, those of you on the Pacific Coast. You guys are missing out.) Where I live, it's going to start at 7:11 p.m. and totality will last from 9:11 to 10:23 p.m. If it's visible where you live, don't miss it! (The Doctor will be so disappointed if you do... and trust me, you don't want to cross the Sad Puppy Eyes of Power.)


	31. Seven Deadly Sins: The Shape of Wrath

**The Shape of Wrath**

Everyone chooses their own poison.

Some chose lust, some chose pride, some chose a pretense at holiness.

His was the sin of anger.

Righteous wrath against the dark was so easily swayed to one side or the other, tainted, no longer pure.

And he had sinned so deeply.

But he's cautious and clever. He directs his anger. He controls it. It would be so easy to lose control, but he never will let himself let go and fall.

He controls his anger. It's why they've called him 'The Oncoming Storm,' inexorable, unstoppable, because he rides that wave as he has for centuries. He knows it very well.

The reason he's such a formidable force is because he knows the dark so very intimately. He has been there. He knows how easy it is to fall.

So many years had gone by, taking parts of his hearts one by one, scouring him hollow, turning him inside out. He would continue to defend these worlds for all his life, even if there was nothing else left to him.

His will was the only thing left holding the universe together, sometimes.

It was not time that had taken so much from him, it was only himself.

The wrath of the just, no matter how righteous, leaves destruction in its wake.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Wow, it's been a while...

Listening to "Sweet Dreams," a remix of "Sweet Dreams" and the _Doctor Who_ theme, and "Everybody Wants to Rule the World." Which could explain this. Anyway, this is the first in a series of Seven Deadly Sins that I'm doing. I NEED PROMPTS FOR OTHER SINS/SINNERS. Of course, the Doctor is Anger, and I think that the Master is Envy. Which means we still need Greed, Sloth, Gluttony, Lust, and Pride. Which characters match best? Please either send me a PM (and make sure it says "for Erin"!) or drop a review with your suggestions! Thanks for all the help and review love, I have never ever ever gotten this many reviews before! :-D


	32. Ticklish

**Author's Note:** I think I've done enough angst for a while. Here, have some fluff and humor!

Oh, and I will still be coming back to the Seven Deadly Sins series. ;-) I'm just posting a little in the meanwhile until inspiration hits again and gives me something I can work with.

 **Ticklish**

When the TARDIS landed on Casilia, the Doctor, Jack, and Rose all landed in a pile. Jack was laughing madly, Rose was giggling, and the Doctor was pretending _not_ to be amused by Rose's hair, which was covering his face and tickling his nose.

And then Rose elbowed him in the ribs.

An uncharacteristic snort burst from the Doctor's nose, and Jack stared. "What was that." Rose tried to get up, inadvertently elbowing him again, and the Doctor tried to cover it up with an obviously fake cough.

This time, Rose took notice. She rolled sideways, off of him, and prodded him deliberately in the side. "Stop it," he said, glaring at her. Rose grinned and poked him again. "Rose Tyler, I am warning you…"

"Shut up," she said affectionately, with the same mischievous grin on her face, and poked him again. Jack stared, his face incredulous—a rare look that the Doctor would have been edified to see at any other time, but now… No. Just no.

"By the Tenth Tasene Nebula," Jack breathed. "Who knew! Time Lords are ticklish!" The Doctor scowled and tweaked his ear, standing up.

"Shut up."

The TARDIS had been witness to many strange things over the years, so who's to say she'd never before seen a game of tickle tag?


	33. For Mother Love and Father Care

Just so you know: YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I cried while I was writing this.

This idea came to me when I was thinking about something else entirely. And then, out of nowhere, Peter Quill's speech from _Guardians of the Galaxy_ : "Look at us. I see losers. People who have lost stuff." And then BAM. This happened.

Enjoy!

 **For Mother Love and Father Care**

His life began with a promise.

 _"Mommy, it's the big bad wolf," the little girl whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks and dampening her long, blond hair. "It's come for me."_

 _Her mother consoled her as best she could, secure in the delusions of adulthood, where the worst thing that could happen to you was eviction or losing a job._

 _However, Rose knew better._

 _"Please, send someone to see about the crack in the wall," Amy pleaded as she said her prayers. "Please, please, please." With the crack, she was terrified of sleeping in her room. It rumbled and growled and sometimes it felt as if the world was falling apart around her._

 _"Mom?" Jack asked from the doorway as his mother leafed through the paperwork. "When is dad coming home?"_

 _"I'm afraid he isn't," she said, a catch in her voice. "He won't be coming home, ever."_

 _"Where has he gone? Doesn't he love us?" Jack sobbed._

 _"He loves us, yes," his mother whispered. "But he's dead, Jack."_

 _"What?"_

 _"Jack, remember this always. Death stops the breath, but it can't stop the heart. Your father died for a friend's sake. That's the ultimate act of love."_

 _"There's a monster in the void," the boy sobbed into his pillow. "Please, Daddy, please take it away."_

 _"I can't. I am so sorry," the father replied, gripping his son's shoulder._

 _"But it knows my name," the boy insisted. The father closed his eyes, wishing that his precious son could have stayed a child just a little while longer._

 _He had been having these nightmares since his eighth birthday._

 _"Don't be afraid to be scared," the father said. "Courage is doing the right thing despite your fear."_

Adults forgot sometimes the harsh reality of a world of nightmare, shutting themselves away in their safe delusions where the worst thing that could happen was losing a job or being evicted. True, those were terrible things to happen, but not so terrible as the child running from the evil he knows is all too real when those who should defend him tell him it is not. Being evicted is not as terrible as losing a home. Losing a job is not as horrifying as becoming lost for all of eternity, an anchorless wanderer, drifting forever through a lukewarm, empty mist.

He swore to protect them, and he would. He always would.

 _"Your father was a wonderful man, Rose." Jackie whispered. "You don't remember him. You were just a baby when he died. He was clever, and he was kind. He would have gone a long way in the world if he hadn't been hit by that kid."_

 _"But it was a child's dream that brought you here. You dreamed that you could hold back death," the stranger said. Grace looked away. Deep inside, she would never forget Collin. If time travel was real, couldn't they just go back and save him?_

 _"Amelia Pond. Like a girl in a fairy tale," the stranger rolled the syllables around his tongue like the silkiest chocolate ice cream._

 _"Amelia Pond, that was a brilliant name—"_

 _"Bit fairytale."_

He would protect them, for this.

 _The Fatherless Girl grew up to change history and re-write Fate, and save her friends a million times over._

 _The Girl Who Waited would grow up to teach a lonely man how to be human again._

 _The Boy from Boeshane would grow up to seek a new way._

 _The Girl Who Dreamed grew up to seek out lights in a new sky._

 _The Lonely Boy grew up to weave himself an armor of words and walk the stars forever, forging his own destiny and swearing to defend them all—to heal and not to kill, to protect and not to destroy. The solemn oath was the beginning of his life._

No child deserves to cry alone. No person should be allowed to believe that they are unloved. No living being should be allowed to think for the tiniest second that they were not important.

These children would grow up to set new lights afire.

This was his oath.

And he would never break his oath.


	34. Some Are Just Lost

**Author's Note:** Here, have a tear-jerker.

I was thinking about _The Lord of the Rings_ and then I thought about how Aragorn and the Doctor are similar and how they're different, and then there's Rose, who is the Doctor's Evenstar, lighting his way and maybe guiding him back out of the dark...

Quotations are taken from _The Lord of the Rings_ by J.R.R. Tolkien. _The Hobbit_ is also by J.R.R. Tolkien.

And, as they say,

 _Donna's hair is red_

 _The TARDIS is blue_

 _Rose Tyler is sweet_

 _I don't own Doctor Who!_

I've always wanted to say that. X-P

 **Some Are Just Lost**

It had somehow, when neither of them was looking, become one of their little customs—sitting in the library of the TARDIS at the end of a long day, with one or the other of them reading aloud. Tonight, it was Rose's turn to read, and the Doctor was working on a Castavarian knitting project—almost like an Earth pattern, but much more complicated, with cables and needlework and knitting and crochet stitches all at once—just to keep his hands occupied.

Rose loved classic fantasy. He hadn't really seen much in it, but as he sat and listened now he knew there had to be something in it. There was something that pulled at the heartstrings, and maybe he just liked the sound of her voice, but she had a way of bringing it to life and carrying his imagination away.

Maybe he'd just been a bit too preoccupied with his age and Rose was bringing in a breath of fresh air, a shaft of clean sunlight, reminding him that age was not everything.

There was also talent and ability and wonder and Rose… and Rose…

Rose seemed to have a way of derailing his train of thought. She wasn't even doing it deliberately.

Part of the reason why he was so taken with her was because she wasn't something he could quite understand. There was just something so entirely alien about her, so beautifully human. She had a gift which he'd never be able to comprehend, let alone emulate, and perhaps that was part of why she captivated him so deeply. She was effortlessly kind, courageous, and poised, while he had to struggle sometimes to keep from snapping at people and would be rude without even realizing it, on occasion.

They had been working their way through "The Hobbit" for the past few weeks, and from the moment the Ring had been mentioned he'd known something was up—he'd jokingly remarked that it sounded like one of the bio-dampers they'd both had to wear on occasions too numerous to mention, and Rose had reacted oddly. Then, when Bilbo told an abridged story of what had happened with Gollum to the Dwarves, he'd known for sure that something was off.

And now, it seemed, that the Ring was evil incarnate.

Really, people could be such idiots over things as simple as gold, but there was more to it than that, a seed of darkness that the Doctor understood all too well, hidden deep in the hearts of men. He'd seen his own. He knew it so intimately. And he despised it. He despised himself for it.

"All that is gold does not glitter," Rose read. "Not all those who wander are lost."

The Doctor listened with only half his mind, still working away at his knitting project. Maybe it would fit Rose when he was done. He was sick and tired of making things for himself.

He had been wandering for so long. For the first couple hundred years, he'd thought he was searching for something, something he'd lost along with the family who he would never see again. After that, though, he wasn't so sure. Maybe he was still looking for something, but he didn't know what. And he had begun to doubt that he would ever find it.

When he had been summoned back to Gallifrey to fight the Time War, he had found a cause, but the cause was not his. In fact, they were no better than their enemies. So he had ended it. And then he had run. He had just run. Not looking. Not even thinking. All he could do was run.

He was terrified that if he ever stopped, he would begin to cry, and if he cried, he would never stop. He could have screamed forever from all the horrors he'd seen. He didn't know how else to escape them, but to run.

He did not look back because he could not.

He lived on with two broken hearts that still shattered again every time he came across the same old injustice, the same pain, the same suffering.

He only knew the reason why he was wandering, the events that had impelled him to move restlessly on forever, with no choice of ever stopping or looking back or settling down at last. He deserved his fate.

He did not know what he was looking for, he didn't know what he would find. He didn't know what he had found in Rose. Escape, perhaps? Redemption, he could scarcely hope for.

 _Not all those who wander are lost_.

But some are.


	35. In Confidence

**In Confidence**

It's long been said in Gallifrey's old proverbs that there are two kinds of heartbreak: compassion and betrayal.

The first heartbreak is a sign of maturity, and the second the introduction of bitterness. When a child's first heart breaks for compassion, he is no longer a child; when the second heart breaks, the first time he is betrayed by a friend, he is considered an adult.

Of course, I've never really fit in on Gallifrey. Each of my hearts has been broken a thousand times over.

When the Master betrayed me, my heart broke with compassion for him. I couldn't understand why he'd done it. And now, I think there may not have even been a reason. Such was his madness.

This is mine: I feel compassion for my enemies sometimes.

Try as I might, I can't feel any empathy for most members of my own species.

I have fallen in love a thousand times platonically and twice romantically. It's easy to swear you will never love again, but I can't help myself.

Somewhere, deep down inside, I will always be that child, dreaming of a wider world, seeking the universe in wonder, a wide-eyed, sentimental old fool, exploring those worlds in a faulty antique. Is there really any difference between the two, I wonder?

I am a square peg in a round hole, so I stole a TARDIS and ran away.

And that, I never shall regret.


	36. Reset to Default

**Author's note:** Wow, it has been a while... Sorry about the hiatus. I got exposed to too much gamma radiation and developed a superpower: spontaneous unintentional teleportation. It happens when I want it least.

So here we go, ANOTHER post-regeneration vignette. I need to stop writing these. *pokes the Doctor* (It's all HIS fault, you see.)

Enjoy!

 **Reset to Default**

It was loud, and crowded, and bright, too bright. It felt as if everyone was touching him, or poking him, or running into him deliberately. The colors were too intense, a riot, a kaleidoscope, an explosion, a rainbow spattered all over the city. Pink, roses, ribbons for research. Red, crimson, cherries, fire, blood, strawberries, pomegranate juice staining the dress shirt of the man across the street. Yellow, sunflowers, golden splashes and puddles of condensed sunshine. Green, leaves reaching to the blue, blue sky. The TARDIS, indigo. And violet: Rose's plain little dress. It was the brightest, loveliest purple he had ever seen.

Everyone was shouting at once, conversations at each other. He was trying not to eavesdrop, not to tie the voices together by their individual threads, but he kept hearing snatches.

"Did you see her yesterday?"

"Lord have mercy, what a tacky dress."

"That was an _awful_ movie."

"Do you want ice cream or pizza first?" Always _get ice cream first,_ he interrupted mentally.

There were strangled strains of music streaming on the wind, clashing with each other, and he flinched. The sound—the meaningless _noise_ —it was all too much. He wanted to run back to the TARDIS and hide in a corner, his eyes shut and ears covered. There were just too many people, too many things to see and do all pressing in and yelling for attention. _Me first! No, me!_

Someone gripped his hand. He jumped and turned defensively. It was only Rose. "You okay?" she asked.

The Doctor swallowed. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Rose grinned, tongue touching her teeth. "Come on. Let's go get some hot cocoa." She gripped his hand gently. The Doctor smiled, tentatively.

"Sounds good."

Rose pulled him off into the crowd.

He just remembered: he loved this.


	37. As Good As A Hit

**As Good As A Hit**

His wrist still ached, hours later, phantom pain that had seeped deep into his bones and muscles still snatching his attention. Another name had been added to the list of those he could not save.

Restlessly, the Doctor rose, rubbing at his left wrist. This one, though, had struck closer to home than any of the others. Why, he was not entirely sure.

 _Don't lie to yourself_. The mental chiding sounded too much like River Song's voice for comfort.

Or, he did know. He just wasn't comfortable with the answer.

Because she had known him.

Who was she? Or, perhaps more appropriately, who would she be to him?

To be greeted by someone who—frighteningly, inexplicably—knew him but who he didn't know—that was more than just awkward. It was scary. And while he hid the fear, he didn't pretend to know her in return.

By the Eternal Guardian, he'd even treated her like a complete idiot when she first came striding in through those doors. He felt like such a cad.

People threw themselves into the fire for him. He'd never known _why_. It was perhaps the thing about himself that he hated the most. He shivered, the faintest wind of time: a warning.

And he was going to meet her again. That was… a disquieting thought.

Watching _Star Wars_ with Martha, he'd been haunted by one of the child Anakin's lines. _What will happen to me now?_

He'd been haunted by the pathos alone, but the line itself…

It was a terrifying question.

"Hey, Spaceman," Donna said quietly. The Doctor jumped.

"Oh! Hello, Donna." It was a bit too loud, and with the forced cheerful tone, it sounded so fake. Donna smiled sadly.

"So what made _you_ not-okay?" She'd told him all about her "life" in the artificial reality created by CAL and the doctor moon. Belatedly, the Doctor realized that she'd been hoping he'd open up to her, in return.

"Oh! Um, well, er…" he stammered.

"Which one is it?" she asked with an attempt at humor. Neither of them laughed.

"I… er… well, Professor River Song saved my life… and I left her in a computer hard drive in a deserted library inhabited by microscopic carnivores."

"When you say it like that, it sounds like you're completely hopeless," Donna humphed.

"I kind of am," the Doctor said.

"But there's more to it than that," Donna said knowingly.

"Well…" The Doctor paused for a moment to marvel at Donna's startling capacity for compassion—and impressive ability to read others' emotions. "She knew me. And I didn't know her."

"And that scares you?" Donna asked. "Mum's friends from when I was little come over all the time and I have to pretend I know them."

The Doctor laughed mirthlessly. "For me, it's more likely that people who know me who I don't know are people I've ticked off in my own personal future."

"No," Donna decided, shaking her head. "You might know them in your future, but you don't know them at all now, and they know you, and that's what scares you. They know things about you, perhaps some private things, and you don't feel like it's reciprocated." The Doctor opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Sometimes I think you see just a bit too much, Donna Noble," he murmured, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.

"You got that right, Martian Boy," Donna smirked at him. He smiled feebly in response.

"Today hit just a bit too close to home," he said softly. "A near miss is as good as a hit." Without looking, he could tell that Donna knew exactly what he meant.


	38. Just an Average Day in 1969

Thank my magnificent Merida hair for this one. It nearly went down the drain this morning!

 **Just an Average Day in 1969**

It had been a long day already, and it wasn't over yet.

Fiddling with her keys and seeking out the one for the flat they'd rented, Martha jammed the TARDIS key into the lock once and dropped the keys twice before managing to get inside. As soon as she had kicked the door shut behind her, she fell halfway onto the kitchen counter, spilling groceries out. A can of Vienna sausages rolled out and along the counter, a container of cold cream following, and Martha sighed, checking the eggs for any damage. She began to shuffle the perishables into the refrigerator. "Doctor? Are you here?" she shouted. No reply.

Martha continued to put the groceries away. He'd probably gone off to run around with his "timey-wimey detector" and frighten ordinary people.

Then, from the direction of the bedrooms, came the sound of a _thud_ , and Martha suddenly realized that she'd heard the water running. Suddenly panicking—had the Doctor fallen in the shower?—Martha ran towards the bedroom and burst into the bathroom. What she saw was not what she expected.

The Doctor, fully dressed, but without his suit jacket, his tie hanging down, washing his hair in the sink.

Martha could think of only one thing to say.

"Umm…"

"Oh! Martha. Hello!" the Doctor said, turning slightly to look at her (and getting water in his eye in the process.) "I was just examining the sink… and then thought… why not, I might as well…" But Martha could see the tell-tale blush spreading across the bridge of his nose.

"You were trying to get something out that you'd dropped down the sink," Martha realized. "And then your head got stuck." The Doctor's shoulders drooped.

"Yup." Martha laughed.

"Come on, let's have you." She turned the water off—the Doctor yelping as it went cold on the back of his neck just before she shut off the cold as well—and then maneuvered his head around the faucet as gently as she could. It wasn't very well. She poked him in the eye at least once ("Ow! Martha, that hurt!"), and put her finger in his ear ("Now that's just _mean_!") at least four times before she managed to get him out. "You don't have to stick your fingers down the drain, Doctor," she coached him. "It might be in the trap."

"I knew that," the Doctor said. She ignored it. Opening the cabinet under the sink, she pulled everything (what was the salad dressing doing in the bathroom?!) out, grabbed the trash can to catch the drips, and began to remove the trap. She pulled out the u-shaped piece and handed into the Doctor.

"There you are. You didn't have to get your head stuck in a sink for _that_ ," she said. The Doctor began to blush again, but was silent, worming his missing piece out of the trap. Martha gazed at it in concern. "Will that still work? It looks pretty damp."

"It'll work," the Doctor said. Martha smiled.

"I'm going to go make dinner," she said, ruffling his still-damp hair, ignoring his protests. She really did love the Doctor, but he wasn't half an idiot sometimes.

"Martha?" She turned back. The Doctor sounded hesitant. "Thank you." Martha smiled and went on to get dinner.


	39. And Hacked And Hewed As A Great God Can

**Author's Note:** So a quote from a poem, _The God Complex_ , and _The Satan Pit_ came together in my mind and then this happened. Lines are taken from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem "A Musical Instrument." If you don't know this poem, I don't know what to do with you.

Enjoy!

 **And Hacked And Hewed As A Great God Can**

 _What was he doing, the great god Pan,_

 _Down in the reeds by the river?_

 _Spreading ruin and scattering ban_

 _I believe in Rose Tyler._

He closed his eyes, wanting to scream in rage, the shattered pieces of any hope he'd had of a life outside what he'd been driven to falling all about him.

It was so unfair!

 _I believe in Rose Tyler._

The wind whistled at the back of his mind, a sibilant, malevolent chant. _Praise him. Praise him. Praise him_.

 _I believe in Rose Tyler._

He closed his eyes, lids taking an eternity to droop shut. Rose's disappointed, accusing, pleading face appeared in his mind's eye.

 _Praise him._

 _I believe in Rose Tyler._

 _I believe in Rose Tyler._

 _I believe in…_

His eyes opened and he was confronted with the Thing once more.

 _Yet half a beast is the great god Pan_

 _Praise him. Praise him…_

 _I believe in_ Rose Tyler.

 _Making a poet out of a man_

 _Praise what?_ He demanded.

 _The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain_

 _For the reed that nevermore grows again_

 _Praise… it._

 _I believe… in_ Rose _._

"Not today," he told the monster, and shut the door.

 _As a reed with the reeds in the river._


	40. Amateur Photography

**Amateur Photography**

"Doctor, if I might have a word," Colonel Mace said, running after the Time Lord and Donna in a hopskip, rather undignified manner. The Doctor turned, coat swishing dramatically around his ankles.

"Yes?" he asked, somewhat warily.

"I would like to see your UNIT ID," the colonel said. The Doctor's nose wrinkled.

"That old thing?"

"Yes, please," Colonel Mace said, ignoring the informality of the Doctor's reply.

What followed was a deep search of miscellany, during which the Doctor pulled out more odd items from his pockets than anyone would have thought possible. "Could have sworn it was on me a century ago…" he muttered. At last, Donna found a battered, tattered card which was practically falling apart stuck in between the psychic paper and its protective leather covering. She waved it in the Doctor's face.

"Is this what you're looking for, Time Boy?" she asked. The Doctor made a grab for it, but Donna had caught sight of the photograph. She pulled it out of his reach and stared at it. "No, wait, this can't possibly be right."

"No, that's it," the Doctor said, trying to snatch it away and failing again. Donna glanced at him.

"Seriously? That looks nothing like you!" She held the ID up to the light to look at it better. The Doctor scowled at her.

"It is me. Look at the name." Donna glanced at the information profiled onto the card and shook her head.

"This is some kind of joke, isn't it?" The Doctor finally succeeded in snatching the card and waved it triumphantly in Donna's face.

"No, it isn't!" he protested. "That is my photograph!"

"Oh, be reasonable!" Donna humphed. "How is that even you? He looks twice your age!"

"Donna… please do not freak out, or hit me in the head with a board, or something, but there's this thing Time Lords can do. If I'm dying and can't be saved, every cell in my body replaces itself and it saves my life, but it changes me. I look different, my personality changes a bit. It's happened to me a few times since that photo was taken."

Donna sighed. "This is too weird to even be a practical joke." The Doctor looked offended.

"Hey! This is _normal_ for Time Lords!"

"Doctor, what I was meaning to say was, I think it might be wise to replace your UNIT ID," the colonel managed at last.

"Why would I want to do that? It's not like I'd ever need it," the Doctor protested. Donna sighed.

"It would come in useful to have an actual genuine ID when we come across people who don't see anything on the psychic paper," Donna told him. "It won't even take that long!" The Doctor suddenly paused.

"Wait. Is this a roundabout way of asking me not to resign, Colonel?" he asked, looking confused. Donna exchanged glances with Mace.

" _Now_ he gets it," she said, grinning.

"That's absurdly sentimental," the Doctor commented. He blew out a deep sigh. "Fine. I'll do it."

* * *

Five minutes later, the Doctor was seated uncomfortably in front of a camera with UNIT's professional photographer—Private Becky Sullivan—ready to take the photograph. He blew at his bangs, hoping that it would go unnoticed. Becky smiled apologetically. "You don't have to smile if you don't want to," she said. The Doctor pulled a wry face. "I beg your pardon, sir… but I didn't realize camera shyness extended beyond Earth's atmosphere." That got a tiny, wry smile. Becky snapped the picture. "If I might ask a question… what's it like? I'm new, but…"

"You joined because you dreamed about the stars?" the Doctor interjected, another half-smile. "Well, it's complicated and loud, and there are billions on billions of people and every last one of them is unique. Every last species and planet is different from every other one. In a way, it's just like Earth and its variety of cultures and people. It's the most amazing thing you could ever imagine." Becky snapped another picture.

"You know your teeth are a bit crooked, right?" The Doctor laughed outright.

"It does feel weird sometimes," he admitted. "I'm still getting used to it." Becky smiled.

"I'm all done," she announced. The Doctor stood up and gripped her hand firmly.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sullivan," he said. "Maybe you will get to see those stars closer some day."

* * *

The card that the Doctor slipped back in behind the psychic paper was laminated, with a half-smiling photograph, the eye line aimed a little away from the camera. Martha Jones was listed as next of kin, and all the other fields besides name were blank, but that didn't really matter. (He'd forgotten when his birthday was anyway.)

* * *

Becky Sullivan got a curious Christmas card that year. It wasn't signed, but inside it there was a gift certificate for her favorite book store and a memory card completely full of photographs of alien worlds and people, their names and parts of their stories included on the bottom of each picture.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I am not apologizing for having the Doctor list Martha as his next-of-kin. He's not travelling with her at this point (most importantly of all the criteria), she knows him and understands his wishes, should he be unable to voice them himself, and she's a medical doctor who has treated him before and understands informed consent and all those little things, which makes her an ideal candidate should he end up on Earth needing help. Sorry-not-sorry to everyone who wishes Martha didn't exist. Martha is amazing, even if the idea to have her hold a candle for the Doctor was _not_. She makes sure that she gets over it in the end, which is fantastic for her. If the Doctor goes to Earth for medical assistance, you can't convince me that he would _not be going to Martha_. *growls* Well... maybe to another companion who was also qualified as a MD. But I know Martha, so Martha it is.

I _am_ actually sorry for this rant. People who bash... please... just... don't. You can not like Martha, or you can not like Rose, that's your personal preference, but I don't particularly agree with character bashing just because you don't like him or her. Thanks for your attention. :-)


	41. Who You Choose To Be

**Who You Choose To Be**

"This is who I am, right here, right now, all that matters, right here."

"Who am I?"

 _Doctor who?_

Names don't really hold any meaning. Even when they mean something, they don't always apply. Titles can lie.

He's never been quite sure who or what he was.

The one thing he did know was that someone had to right the wrongs.

"But this is the truth, Doctor. You take ordinary people and turn them into weapons."

Self-love was not a fault he indulged in. He knew what he was capable of and what he'd become. Judgment and even death was a part of his nature. Mercy, sadly, was not.

Mercy, he tried for, but too often failed.

The Time Lords thought they knew who and what he was, but he wouldn't accept it. It didn't make sense, it didn't fit in with the world as he saw it. So he ran away, the only possible solution, the only possible outcome. He ran away, and wove himself an armor of words, and chose a name that was also a promise.

He _would_ live up to it, or he would die trying.


	42. The Price of Hate

**Author's note:** Written while listening to the "Day of the Doctor" soundtracks and inspired by the mini-episode featuring Paul McGann. I wish they'd reboot the Eighth Doctor's story, there was so much potential there. (But of course they won't.) Anyway, enjoy the story!

 **The Price of Hate**

Snowy-white petals fell like tears on a world of endless sunset, and the Doctor mourned.

The last day. The very last day for a civilization that had stood so long. Now, because of his people, it would fall.

"How did it come to this?" he murmured, under his breath.

Ash floated down with the petals on a chilly breeze. The sun was already going dark and his singed locks spilled, stinging, into his eyes. The world below him burned slowly to ash around its dying star.

It was beautiful. It had been beautiful. And now it was going out forever. Bitter and tangy and metallic, the flavor of blood on his bitten lips, ash and soot at the back of his throat mixing to white mud on his tongue.

Ash would wash off his skin, as would the grime and blood. He deliberately kept his fingers away from the new scars on his hands and arms, the remains of barbed-wire slashes.

"One day, this war will end," he swore. "The stars will not go out. The people of this universe will live on, even if it means the Time Lords must be forgotten forever. There has been enough death."

 _No more_.

The Doctor returned to the TARDIS, glancing sadly behind him. The planet was silent of the sounds of life—only a cold wind and the grinding, aching crumbling of rocks growing cold.

Night fell.

The Doctor moved on. The night wind echoed a promise.

 _No more._


	43. Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:** It has been a while, and I'm still not back on form. I'm busy writing really angsty stuff... Gah. I wish I could write humor, but I'm just not in the mood for it right now. This is actually an old story that I wrote but never posted.

I may or may not do a New Year's story since I missed Christmas. It all depends.

Anyway, thanks for staying with me this long and here's to 2016!

Smoke and Mirrors

Once a year, every year. And only once a year. Vanity was nothing but a pretense, yet another shield drawn over his hearts, scarred and variously, repeatedly broken as they were.

Much as he might pretend to be a dandy, to present that exterior to whoever saw him, he still hated mirrors.

Perhaps those who saw him never looked past the surface, but he couldn't help but see past it. He hated the look in his eyes, the one that never went away.

It had been there ever since the dead bird when he was four, and the dead child when he turned nine.

When he was eight he had foreseen much of his life and what he would become, but he'd forgotten the moment he looked away. How could he remember such things? He was only a child, but a child who already knew what their elders tried to hide.

There was death.

Maybe it had been there from the first, that sad knowledge. Death comes to all.

Madness could have hidden that knowledge. He could be lost in the dark and no one would ever know. But giving in was not an option, much as he wanted to break sometimes.

What kind of child had he been?

Never truly a child.

(Such a lonely childhood. So lonely, so very alone.)

He had not been young in many, many years.

But there was hope. Once in a while, when luck favored them, no one died. Everyone lived.

And those days, few and far between but precious, made it all worthwhile.


	44. Now Turns the Rolling of the Years

**Now Turns the Rolling of the Years**

New Year's Day, the year of Our Lord 2000, San Francisco. Just after midnight.

As Chang Lee ran off, the Doctor gave Grace a slightly shy smile. "It's a bit cold for California, isn't it?" he asked apologetically. Grace couldn't help laughing.

"It's just after midnight, and it's winter time," she pointed out. The Doctor slid out of the borrowed frock coat and draped it over her shoulders. It fit her just about as well as it did him.

"Maybe… before I go… would you like to get some hot chocolate?" he asked, hopefully, absently tucking a lock of chestnut hair behind one ear. Grace couldn't find the heart to deny that wide-eyed, innocent look.

"Where are we going to find hot chocolate in the small hours of the morning on New Year's Day?" she replied, not wanting to dash his hopes. The Doctor shrugged. The cool air didn't seem to bother him at all, in shirtsleeves and vest as he was.

"I don't know yet," he said with a laugh, and offered her his arm.

* * *

Small groups of people made their way through the streets, cheering and blowing on party horns. At one street corner, Grace awkwardly accepted a pointed party hat that proudly read "2000" from an older man who seemed to be determined to make sure that everyone was enjoying themselves. The Doctor looked in dismay at his own small plastic top hat. "I need bobby pins," he announced to the whole street. Grace winced, but fortunately no one took any notice. She took the hat from him.

"Here, let me show you how it's done…" She snapped the elastic under his chin, tipping the hat at a jaunty angle. Tugging on the elastic to keep it from biting into his skin, the Doctor gave her a look of pure horror.

"You can not be serious," he pronounced solemnly. Grace had to swallow down a laugh. The Doctor took the hat off and handed it to a young woman who happened to be passing by. "Humans are so strange," he said. This time, Grace couldn't help but laugh.

The next street over, they met with a group of drunks who, while harmless enough, tried to take them along with them. They ran through the snowless streets, the Doctor laughing merrily and Grace struggling to keep up. It was too easy to evade their pursuers.

Around the next corner was a small shop, still open, though there was no one inside. They stepped inside to catch their breath, and the girl at the counter, who had been dozing, started awake to the jingle of the bell. "Are you alone sleeping in this city of wakeful revelers?" the Doctor asked her, in fine dramatic style. The girl blinked at him, as if she thought she was dreaming still.

"What can I get for you tonight?" she asked, yawning. "We're all out of most things, but we might be able to rustle something up."

"Do you have hot chocolate?" the Doctor asked. Grace blinked at him. She'd forgotten the reason for their expedition. The girl nodded.

"It'll be a moment. I have to heat up the milk."

"May we come into the kitchen?" the Doctor asked mildly. Grace poked him.

"That's rude," she said firmly. The Doctor gave her a startled look. The girl raised her hand placatingly, yawning.

"It's too late—or too early—for manners," she said. "It's warmer back there anyway. Come on."

The kitchen was clean, neat, and utterly unremarkable, but cosy—a home kitchen made over for commercial purposes. An old-fashioned cross-stitch circle hung on one wall, proclaiming "Remember to Smile!" in bright colors. The girl yawned again as she stepped into the industrial refrigerator, emerging with a gallon of reduced-fat milk. She produced dark chocolate powder and crushed peppermints from a pantry.

"Not much business for a late night," the Doctor observed. The girl yawned, once more.

"There never is," she said. "But tonight they're all at the bars. Which is nice, but I'd still rather go home. I was planning to sleep rather than wait for the ball to drop—until I got called in to work, of course." Grace mouthed 'I told you so' at the Doctor. He gave her a wide-eyed look that clearly said 'I found us somewhere with hot chocolate, didn't I?'

"What's your name?" the Doctor asked. The girl blinked at him, her hand frozen with the measuring spoons halfway out of the chocolate box. She smiled.

"Kaitlyn. Though, you could have looked at the name tag," she said.

"I had to wear one of those for half a day once, years ago, back home," the Doctor said conversationally. "There's nothing quite as hearts-stopping as being addressed by your own name by people you don't know at all. In the end I switched it for one with a name I'd made up. It was less terrifying that way." Grace blinked. Here she'd been pumping the Doctor for any meaningful scrap of information about himself ever since she'd started talking to him, and now he gave the cashier at a little shop more than he'd given her the entire time. Kaitlyn smiled. "I'm the Doctor, by the way," the Doctor said gently. Not to be outdone, Grace smiled her brightest.

"And I'm Grace."

"You've got good taste," Kaitlyn said, smiling at both of them. "Best hot chocolate in San Francisco—though I might be biased." The Doctor laughed.

"Make that three cups, please," he said. "My treat."

On New Year's Eve, Grace had met the most remarkable man she would ever know and had a bewildering adventure that no one would ever believe. On New Year's Day, she sat in the back room of a small café, drinking hot chocolate with two people who might have been total strangers before, but whom she now felt as if she'd known all her life.

It was the little things in life, Grace realized, that she'd been missing all along; her love of opera, discovered anew (Kaitlyn was partial to Wagner), new friends, a cup of the best hot chocolate in San Francisco. They laughed together, sharing small stories and big dreams well past three o'clock.

On the last day of 1999, Grace Holloway had the biggest adventure of her life. On the first day of 2000, she had the second biggest.

She would never forget either one.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I debated for quite a while as to whether this story really belonged here or in my collection of Eighth Doctor short stories. However, after long debate, I decided that not only does it fit better here, it will probably also get more attention here (and I will get more feedback *wink wink*)

In case it wasn't clear, this is slightly AU to the end of the 1996 movie.

Thank you all for being such amazing readers. Here's to another brilliant year! I'll see you all in 2016. :-D


	45. Auld Lang Syne

**Auld Lang Syne**

It had one full year since she had rebooted her life.

Grace had never considered teaching as a possibility. Now, she was teaching a full class while also on the job, saving lives—in a hospital across town from Walker General. Occasionally, she also volunteered at a free clinic on San Francisco's poor side.

When she'd first begun, Grace had wondered where she got the energy. She didn't know whether it came from the burst of joy she found in her renewed life or from the mysterious man with whom she had spent her New Year's Eve. All the same, she was grateful for it, and continually surprised by how it continued to perpetuate itself—an eternal fountain. True, she still had bad days and down days, but as a whole she was much better than she had been. It even seemed to be catching.

Of course there was a scandal when it became known that she had left Walker General. No one was quite certain exactly what had happened, but it was clear that a patient had died—albeit that the wildest rumors and conspiracy theories circulated concerning that patient. The hospital was under new leadership now, but its record as a whole had not advanced or degraded—if anything, it was simply more honest and transparent than before. As it should have been in the first place.

She had not seen or talked to Brian all year. It felt like a new start.

Grace sat thoughtfully in the window seat, sipping lightly at a glass of eggnog—left over from Christmas. She'd excused herself from the party early, knowing she needed the rest, but she didn't want to go to bed just yet.

She started awake at the sound of someone rapping gently at the door. She hadn't intended to fall asleep… Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was a few minutes before midnight. It was almost 2001. Grace got up and cracked the door open. Her jaw dropped.

"Doctor!" she said, surprised.

He stood uncertainly on her doorstep, looking more than a little bit lost—but that was all that he shared with the ditzy young man she remembered. The curls had been cut short, the jacket was gray, battered leather, and Brian's old dress shoes had been replaced with scuffed military-style boots. It looked as if he was carrying the weight of worlds on his shoulders.

"Grace," he said softly, somehow endowing that one word with oceans of feeling. Grace gasped. The power of his sheer presence certainly hadn't changed.

"Won't you come in?" she said politely. The man looked as if he was about to fall down.

He nodded. "Thank you." He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him.

"Are you all right?" she blurted out. He looked startled, as if he had been suddenly pulled from his own little world. Slowly, he shook his head.

"Just tired," he said quietly. Subdued.

"How long has it been for you?" The Doctor shook his head again.

"I've lost track." Grace was about to ask how that was possible if he was a Time Lord, but stopped herself just in time. He probably didn't want to remember. She was still working on her bedside manner.

"What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly alarmed. The last time he had turned up, trouble had not been far behind. In fact, it might be argued that trouble had been a little ahead of him then. The Doctor shook his head.

"It's nothing." He glanced at the clock. "New Year's eve again? Happy new year!" The cheerfulness didn't seem quite forced, but it seemed to be a little too abrupt of an about-face. However, Grace let it be.

"Happy New Year, Doctor," she said.

"How has it gone? The previous year. For you, I mean. It was easy to find out all the big news stories, but that's not what matters in the end… People forget about the small and precious things."

 _Is that what you've come here looking for, Doctor?_

"Well… Things are pretty normal." Grace half-smiled. "I don't know what the hell happened to Brian." The Doctor laughed. "I haven't set foot back in Walker General. I work at St. Peter's now. But they've gotten a little less… what's the British terminology? Shady?"

"Dodgy," the Doctor said, laughing.

"Mm. Well, they're not so dodgy over at Walker General. More transparent about patient deaths."

"For anyone who didn't regenerate in the morgue, that would absolutely be a good thing," the Doctor said with a smile. Grace frowned.

"You're not worried that someone might hear about that?" she asked. The Doctor shook his head.

"Life's too short for worries or second thoughts. Besides, ninety percent of the human population won't believe the stories and no one listens to the other ten percent anyway. If someone wants to track me down, they normally do it in an over-dramatic and theatrical way, by clipping a temporal tracer to the TARDIS or something like that. Not by looking into old hospital records and ghost stories." The Doctor leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "They could just call."

"You wouldn't come," Grace said, half-jokingly, half-accusingly. The Doctor laced his fingers behind his head and whistled.

"True, but they _could_ ," he said. Grace couldn't help but laugh.

"What about you? Where have you been?" she asked, hoping that the mood would last. There was barely a falter in the Doctor's manner, but the warmth was gone from his words.

"Anywhere and everywhere," he said, not looking at her. Grace inhaled slowly.

"It really has been _years_ for you," she said, staring. The Doctor nodded bleakly.

"I was running. It should have occurred to me to run back here sooner." Grace swallowed. That wasn't the tone of someone who was interested. It was the voice of someone who is being towed under.

"Did you find someone else to go with you?" she asked.

"Several someones… They all went home. Where they should be."

"Would you like to tell me about them?" He looked surprised, as if he was trying to understand.

"Maybe… I don't know…" Grace might not have been a psychologist, but it didn't take one to realize that maybe, for this entire regeneration, the Doctor didn't know what he really wanted or didn't want, liked or disliked, as if he still didn't really know himself. Like a lost child.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed.

"Why did you come here?" Grace asked, biting her lip. The Doctor glanced at her, eyes veiled, as if he was looking at her but not seeing her, looking far off into something else. It was more than just disconcerting. It was discomforting.

"They say that in the old days of Earth, the dignity of men was that they could know the time for their deaths… when death would come for them. When they should resist because they still had so much to live for, and when to accept it with grace." Grace frowned slightly, not sure where this was going.

"Am I going to die soon?" The Doctor looked at her, surprised.

"No! No, of course not. It's just that I have this feeling… if I didn't say goodbye now, I never would. I don't know if it's a Time Lord thing or if it's just me, but sometimes… I just know when I'm coming close." Grace inhaled.

"You think you're going to die?"

"No." The Doctor's face contorted. "And yes. I've never actually died so I can't say, but a regeneration… If I had to say, I'd say that that's what death feels like."

"You think you're going to die," Grace repeated.

"It wasn't my intent to be a wet blanket over your New Year," the Doctor said, looking away. "I suppose I should know better now. Say goodbye and then run before I start spilling my hearts out." From his expression, Grace would have said that right now the Doctor was very deliberately biting his tongue. "Something is coming. Any day now I'll probably be called back along with all of Gallifrey's prodigal sons and daughters. And there's going to have to be a sacrifice before it's all over. That's the way it always is…" He fell silent. Grace exhaled.

"Well, good luck," she said firmly. "Be safe—if you can."

"I'll try," he said flatly. He stood up and moved toward the door.

"By the way… what happened to that coat?" Grace asked, suddenly. The Doctor paused.

"It lasted surprisingly long—after all, it was only a fancy-dress costume."

A moment later, he was gone again. And Grace wondered at the back of her mind why she'd missed the opportunity to go with him.


End file.
